Blondes
by faithfulwriter
Summary: “I see you still have a weakness for blondes,” Meredith said to Nathan. It was more than that. It was genetic a trap for all the Petrelli men. Mostly cannon, some AU. Syelle, Paire, Nathan/Mer, Niki, Tracy. Collaborative story with Graver. It's fabulous!
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes._

_**A/N:** Wow. Let's begin this journey together. This is a story called Blondes. It's based off of canon with some AU scenes and back story. It's gonna be fun. I'm excited. Graver's excited. We worked so unbelievably hard on this story and we were countries apart so it was definitely hard. But, here it is. Please leave us reviews. We wrote it for you. We want to know what your questions are, what your thoughts are, if you hate it, love it, how it could be better. We need to know. So, please tell us. It's encouraging. And tell all your friends too. We want everyone to read this story. :) Love, Dani & Mia_

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**Prologue:**

Arthur knew exactly what he was doing. He had it planned for years, his "death" and his return to power. What he hadn't planned was the arrival of his long-lost son onto his doorstep, or the arrival of Elle Bishop (who looked just like her mother) to the same doorstep. But he was a creative man and he knew how the situation would be used to his advantage. He noticed the chemistry and he was going to ignite it. The best way to achieve that spark was to lock them in a room together.

Besides, there was no better way to piss of his beloved wife than to make the things she feared the most come true. And he caught it all on tape. He would send it to her, maybe with a bunch of roses and some pictures of their other sons, just to remind her that he was in control. To remind her that she was powerless to stop him. He was going to win. This was his Ace.

He was one step closer to pushing his sons over the edge. He was a powerful man and with the right maneuvering, he was sure it would work to his advantage.

....

Angela paced around her office, between the high mahogany cabinets and golden figurines that not so long ago had belonged to someone else. She wasn't an anxious woman by nature, but life as Arthur Petrelli's wife had made such behavior almost a habit. She'd managed to learn how to handle the strain over the years, how to regain some of the control, often by manipulation. She could smile through the pain, hide what she didn't want others to see, convince them that what they saw was wrong. A woman had to have her secrets after all.

But her secrets kept being revealed, starting with Gabriel. She was losing control and she felt it. This was not something she did often and saying she didn't like it, was an undestatement.

Her eyes crossed the open file on her desk. Secrets, all secrets. Everything she was forced to do to keep this from happening, constantly failing, the course resettling towards that future she saw, as if driven by a dark force.

But she always suspected it. She shouldn't be as surprised. This was just another move by her dear old not-so-deceased husband.

It was perfect really. Too perfect to not be from him. It was just waiting there, on her laptop, open and loaded for her to watch. Waiting here on the the same day she recieved the news of the other two sons, the news in that manilla folder on her desk. And two dozen red roses. She hated this, now and then. She had to react. What mother would want to see the truth, especially when she's run from it for so long? The video sent her over the edge, just as he knew it would. Besides, it was something only he would flaunt at her, only he could hurt her with. Her sons.

It was all set into ruin when that monster from the future decided to come and trade places with her youngest son. And just as she had feared, his movements left behind a trail of dead butterflies that even Daniel Linderman could not have ressurrected. The damage was already done. One by one, she would lose them.

With one angry look at the screen, she slammed her laptop shut. Gabriel, her last hope of bringing some sense into this family, the one with the power to create and destroy, was lost to that electric blonde. The potential Angela had seen in him, that desire to be special, that hunger... Elle Bishop would smother it all. How she was still around, Angela didn't know. She had her reassigned after learning her placement, even fired her from the Company to keep her away from him. Yet, there they were.

There was a ringing in Angela's ear. She looked at her phone. Nathan. Her first born, the one she'd protected the longest. She'd spend her youth cleaning up his messes, preventing the future she saw for him. The high school girlfriends, Meredith, baby Claire — all threatening to ruin his career, the brilliant future she had dreamt of. She was ready to do anything for him, give her own life for him or take another. And she almost did. It was all worthless. She had saved him only to see him fall again in the same trap over and over again.

Angela looked across her desk at the picture of her smiling son, her youngest, most powerful. He was never meant to turn out this way. Angela knew that it was nothing that she had done. She had encouraged him to choose his own path, let him forget about all the ambition, never learning that he was the most powerful. The most special. She had tried, had given everything to change what she saw him becoming.

She never really believed he would become what he was now. She doubted him all along. But here he was, strong and powerful and she could place no claim in that. It was not because of Angela. It was because of _her_. Her need, her life, her love, her spirit. They shaped Peter into what he was. From that first moment he saw her on that canvas, she was the death of him. It was his destiny. She had given him life and she would take it away again and again, indestructible or not.

Angela sat down and looked at the line of pictures on her desk. Her three sons and their golden brides, the ones she dreamed about years ago, the ones that would destroy them. They were smiling, victorious, waiting in a line before her as if they had won.

She laughed in the irony. All the Petrelli men had chosen a blonde.

Maybe it was a joke. Maybe it was a coincidence...No. It was none of that. It was in their blood. She didn't want it for them, that weakness, that path, those problems hidden under the golden glimmer. But no matter what she wanted for them, she could not protect them from their hearts.

Her phone rang again. She pushed ignore.

In a line, when one fell, all fell. Like dominoes.


	2. Part One: Nathan

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes._

_A/N: I hope you like this chapter. Leave reviews. The story begins..._

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**Part One: Nathan**

Nathan Petrelli was not a weak man. He was a pilot in the Navy. His father was the District Attorney of the state of New York. He grew up knowing how to fight for what he wanted, how to fight for those he loved, how to defend his country, how to stand his ground. He wasn't worried about anything in his life, except the blonde that was staring at him from her spot at the bar.

She was gorgeous and she was flirting with him, he was certain of that. Nathan ordered them both a shot and they toasted each other from across the room, their eyes locked. When it was gone, he stood and they moved toward each other in the middle of the dance floor.

"Thanks for the drink," she said with a twang accent.

He smiled at her voice. "For you, anytime." She smiled. "I'm Nathan Petrelli," he said, extending his hand.

"Meredith Gordon," she said. "I reckon we should dance, since we're already here."

"That's the best offer I've heard all night," he said. He put her hands around her waist and moved with her on the floor.

Nathan was a no-nonsense man. He was raised that way by both of his parents. That was the one thing they had in common. This would be non-sense to them. This girl was obviously part of a different world, one that Petrelli's found no place in. But as he kissed the blonde that he just met, he didn't care about what his parents would think about it.

…

Morning came slowly, which Nathan liked. He was putting on his jacket when Meredith woke up. She smiled at him and he did the same. She laughed. "I guess you're moving on now," she said softly.

Nathan moved from his spot toward the woman in the bed. He kissed her softly. "I was hoping we might have dinner tonight. I think I owe you a proper date."

The blonde laughed and told him he didn't have to do that. "I can just be a fling, Nathan. You don't have to think of me again. I didn't expect it."

Nathan smiled and kissed her again. "Maybe I want to think of you every night," he said. He thought about his parents again, but only for a second. He would do this one thing just for him.

- - -

Arthur and Angela Petrelli did not approve of Meredith Gordon. Nathan stood, arms crossed, and listened to his parents argue about the woman sitting in the living room. They'd been together for two months and he just told them the news. There was "a list of reasons," as Angela put it, that they should not be together. Meredith had no breeding. She was trailer trash, a floozy from Texas who was just after Nathan's money and power. She didn't love him. She didn't deserve him.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked him.

Nathan just shook his head. He didn't speak as Arthur continued on a rant.

"It's because she's blonde," Angela said plainly. Both men looked at her. "Well, look at all those girls from high school. There was the one who was so unintelligent I wasn't sure how she functioned."

Sarah.

"And the little one—"

Holly.

"And the one from the Westerly line—"

Elizabeth.

"The one who had a limp when she walked—"

Dorothy.

"And those girls from college," Arthur added.

" Yes, I think there were five "serious" ones. What were there names….the dumpy one…what bird was it? And there was a Hannah, I think. I don't remember them all…." Angela paused.

Robin. Hannah. Jordan. Kelly. Paige. Nathan pictured them all in his head while his mother ranted.

"…And there was the model."

"Sasha," Nathan and Arthur said simultaneously. Angela looked at them.

Nathan smiled a little and Angela cleared her throat.

"That is beside the point. Nathan you cannot chase around blonde women for the pleasure of it. You are planning to run for DA in a couple years. All they need is one vice…you will ruin yourself," she said. Nathan declined to care. He left the house with Meredith shortly after.

…

Nathan didn't like to admit it, but his mother was right. People from different worlds would never be able to share one well. They were very different people with different goals. Over the last two months, they had separated from the relationship they thought they had. It was difficult but Nathan wouldn't let his mother be right. He wanted to be his own man, for once.

He was sitting on the couch in his small apartment when she told him she was pregnant. He wasn't excited; he wasn't disappointed. He was shocked. He could only imagine what his mother would say—and it was accurate.

Nathan sat with his parents in the quiet of the night and told them the news. Meredith was pregnant and she was determined to have the baby. Angela suggested paying her off but the idea was dismissed. Nathan wanted to be part of his child's life. His parents objected his move to Texas with Meredith but they helped him arrange flights back and forth so he could work. Work was important in the Petrelli household.

Nathan flew a lot. He spent the time thinking about the daughter he was about to have with a woman he met in a bar. He thought about the career he was losing. He thought about the look on his parents' faces when he told them. He had a lot of time to think when he went from New York to Odessa, Texas on a regular basis. He only wondered what kind of father he would be to this child living in two places.

-- -- --

Claire Gordon Petrelli was born in the early hours of morning. Nathan was scared to death. He had not held a baby so small since Peter was born—and it was years ago. He looked at the little girl in his arms. He touched her small head, which already had little blonde hairs on it, and swore that he would always protect her. That he would love her no matter what. That he would try not to screw this up.

Nathan was a good father. Despite the distance and the constant arguments with Meredith, Nathan loved his daughter. She was one now. A whole year she had been alive. He was on his way home to Texas after a meeting. He called Meredith from the plane, told her that he would be home soon. She said she loved him. He didn't say it back. "Kiss Claire for me."

When he arrived at home, it wasn't a home anymore. The building that once stood, that once housed his girlfriend and daughter was black. The smoke was still billowing upwards and the water still flowed from the hoses on fire trucks. Nathan told them his family was in there; he asked if anyone had seen a baby or a blonde woman. People looked but they never came out.

Nathan watched in silence as they buried two caskets. One was white. The other was small, too small to be real. But it was real. He was burying his daughter. His beautiful baby and his girlfriend, the mother of his child. The woman he didn't say he "I love you" to on the phone. He touched the small casket and apologized for not being there to protect her. Angela insisted they leave "Petrelli" off the headstone to avoid a future scandal. Nathan was too tired to argue.

….

Nathan Petrelli was a man in mourning. When he heard a baby cry or saw a little girl with a big smile, he disappeared for days at a time. He drank his weight in alcohol in the comfort of his home and slept it off. It was a process he repeated often. When he needed to, he would pick up a blonde at a bar.


	3. Part One: Gabriel

_Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes._

_**A/N: This one is shorter but not any less fabulous.  If you leave us reviews—lots of them, like 7 or 8 by Wednesday —then I'll post the next chapter on Thursday (which is really long and Paire). Promise. **_

_**Love, Dani  
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**Part one: Gabriel**

She let herself in. Gabriel could hardly hear the bell chime with the rope tight around his neck. He thought himself a goner by then, so close to his end he could literally smell Hell and its fires. The singing rope was real. Instead, there came a quick descent, a dull thud, and sharp pain where the floor connected with his not so dead back.

Life pumping in his ears, Gabriel struggled with the first strangled gasps when some small hands reached around him and released the knot. Head still cradled in those arms, he opened his eyes to a halo of bright blonde hair.

"Are you okay?" The gentle voice asked.

Gabriel marveled at his savior; mother had never told him guardian angels were so beautiful.

Turned out she was no angel after all, just a girl. The girl had a name. Elle.

….

The shop was closed early – no customers that day except the one. Gabriel sat at his desk, a broken watch in his hands, and let the day play itself over and over in his head. He went over the tiniest details, making sure he'd remember her smile, the way she touched his arm and assured him everything would be okay.

No, it wasn't. Gabriel knew that things were always more complicated than that. There was forgiveness and then there was love. No need to confuse those two.

He had done terrible things, and as much as he had wanted to forget it, he still felt the scull crack under his blow, the blood warm and slick on his fingers. He shuddered. Who could love anyone like that?

…

Elle was back the very next day to ask about her watch. Gabriel's trained ear noticed that things spun differently around her, every timepiece in his shop would skip or fasten their pace, as if magnetized by her presence. Her hair was combed back, baring her alabaster neck and gold earrings.

Gabriel's heart sped up, pulsing warm waves all over his body.

Elle looked at him, puzzled, and asked again if he was feeling any better. Gabriel nodded, wiping his hands against his shirt, and carefully retrieved her watch from the top drawer.

It was beautiful piece. The clockwork was fragile, gold through and through. He had never seen anything like that. On the back, there was a woman's name, but it wasn't hers. Elle fidgeted at his wondering gaze, saying it belonged to her mother. She had never seen it work.

"How much do I owe you?"

Gabriel's eyes snapped back up. Elle was rummaging in her purse, the small dainty thing. He caught her hand and stopped her, surprised by himself.

"Please, you don't owe me anything. After what you did ... I don't how I could ever thank you..." There his boldness ended. His hand was warm and moist. She kept hers still, entwined with his, almost intently so.

"What about a lunch?" Elle suggested, taking him by surprise.

The smell of burning came back to him like it was yesterday.

"I could come over some day and bring something."

She smiled again, more shyly, tugging at the strap of her purse, anxious for him to say something. Too stunned to form an answer, Gabriel placed the watch on her palm and mumbled something about Thursday.

….

Spurred by Elle's faith in him, Gabriel decided to turn a new page in his life. He stopped calling Suresh and the idea of Sylar was put to rest. In the anticipation of her visit, Gabriel threw out everything that had brought him any bad thoughts, everything but the book of evolution, which he hid in his closet under piles of old clothes.

It was only after he heard the doorbell that he remembered the map on his wall. Too late for that now—his guest was already on his doorstep, revealing a huge smile and a pie to match it.

Elle felt oddly familiar at his place, like she already belonged there. Without any awkwardness, she evaded the issue of the lack of seating – he had rarely had any guests before – and popped down on the carpet, Indian style. Heart racing in his chest he followed her example, settled down next to her, so close he could smell her perfume over the pie.

He had wanted to be careful, take it slow and learn more about her, but there he went, spilling out his secrets like a choir boy at a confession.

"I can handle it," she said. He looked at her cautiously but her smile swayed him. Elle glowed with admiration as he showed her what he could do. Then she slipped her hand in his like the day before.

"You are special, Gabriel," she said.

Gabriel couldn't help but wonder if he was special enough for her.

…

Only weeks after their first meeting, Gabriel and Elle formed a strong bond. For the first time in his insignificant life Gabriel was happy with who he was. There was no craving to be special, extraordinary. With her, he could be himself.

Thus, blinded by his own happiness, the watchmaker never noticed Elle's reluctance to talk about herself, the quiet sighs between the laughter or how her eyes grew sad when he insinuated that he was the best thing that had happened to her. He laughed and enjoyed his time with her, trying to hide the fact that he was hopelessly, completely falling in love with her.

The night Gabriel planned to tell her that, it all fell apart. Hopelessly and completely so. He could look past the new guy Elle was gushing over, the one that was coming here tonight because Gabriel had to meet him, and the fact she took his notes on people with abilities without asking. He could even forgive the test she'd put him through, one that he failed completely. He could not forgive her lying about the one thing essential for them both, the thing that connected them at their core: their powers.

One misaimed charge of voltage and the truth was out in the open. That awful, a familiar buzz he once thought was the sound of angel arriving, coursed through his body in a sharp shock. He finally understood what it meant.

"Gabriel, you don't have to do this," Elle pleaded, regret staining her voice.

Sylar stopped, glaring at her, then Trevor, trembling, bloodied, on the floor. Sensing she could end up the same, he yelled at her to get out. Out of his dreams, out his life. Out.

…

He went looking for her, after he calmed down and realized what he had done. He went through the entire neighborhood, each alley and street, finding nothing but a heel lodged in the asphalt.

Gabriel died that night.

Sylar made sure of that, buried the watchmaker so deep that she would never hear from him again.


	4. Part One: Peter

_Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes._

A/N: Thanks for the last chapter feedback. Know that it means a lot. If I haven't responded to your comment, it's because you were anonymous. I'm glad that everyone likes it!!!

And now a chapter for all you Paire lovers. Let me know what you think. ~Danielle

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**Part One: Peter**

Peter Petrelli was a dreamer. He heard it all of his life but there was something about this dream that seemed to fill him, like what he did today was the thing he was born to do. It was odd. The whole way there he questioned how this girl could be his destiny. He knew there was something he was missing, something that he didn't understand, something bigger. It didn't really matter what those pieces were, Peter would've gone to Texas anyway.

It wasn't what he expected. He expected to meet the present version of the future Japanese man—who ditched him to travel to the past—and to save a cheerleader from some one evil. He didn't even know what or who.

Maybe Nathan was right; maybe he was crazy.

But as he sat in a jail cell, the thoughts of the blonde cheerleader named Claire seemed to be imprinted on his mind. She felt so real, like she was sitting there next to him with that sad smile. It was all too much to wrap his mind around. He replayed it in his head, to make sure nothing was missing. Each time he saw it the same way.

The way he bumped into her, the way she made him nervous with just a look. The way she smiled, talked about Jacki. The way she screamed and trusted him when they ran. She trusted him. And he saved her.

He saved the cheerleader. She was alive. He was alive, although he should've been dead.

He _was_ dead.

He fell off the roof of a high school. A normal person would have died. But he wasn't dead. He wasn't normal either. But this was different. She was different. She wasn't disgusted or shocked when she saw him on the ground in his own blood. She watched him as he re-aligned his bones, as his jaw reformed. She looked like she wanted to scream, not in a bad way, out of relief maybe. She was as amazed as he was.

Then she asked his name. That was it. "Hey, what's your name?" Like it was normal to see someone dead now alive, to watch body parts re-align. Maybe it was. Maybe all of this was normal.

"_Are you the one?" She stopped and looked down at him. "Saving you, did I save the world?" Peter asked. _

"_I don't know," she paused, "I'm just a cheerleader." _

Peter sat in his own torturous silence, hoping the detectives would find Claire and protect her. She had to be safe, far from Sylar or all of this was pointless. He thought of her, dead, on the ground. That's what would've happened, what still could happen.

No, she's safe, he told himself. If something was wrong, he would feel it. If she was really his destiny, then he would know because somehow for some reason, they were connected.

There was a knock at the window and Peter looked up. For a second, he thought was dreaming—she wouldn't be here. But her smile filled his view and the door opened. She walked in beside a tall man in horn-rimmed glasses. Peter stood and she smiled.

"You're ok," he said.

"Thanks to you," the tall man with horned rimmed glasses said. The man knew his name, extended his hand, which Peter shook.

The man introduced himself as Noah Bennet, told him he owed him his life for saving his daughter.

Peter smiled and shrugged. "I was just in the right place."

It wasn't a lie. He was—it was just enhanced by Isaac's paintings.

The man smiled. "Maybe one day I'll be in the right place and can return the favor."

Peter coughed mid-smile and lied about feeling all right when they asked. He tried to hide his smile when Claire asked her father to leave. He had to get himself together. This could've been his only chance to talk to her ever again. Peter smiled as Noah left, fighting off the urge to run out the door with him, away from those eyes.

He was barely gone when she looked him.

"How long have you known?" She asked. Peter looked at her, confused by what he was supposed to know. "That you were like me? You would've died if you couldn't."

Peter looked at her. It makes sense. He sat still on the bed, almost afraid to move.

"Do you heal? Is that it?"

She nodded slightly. She saved his live. She saved _his _life.

"All this time I thought it was just me—now there's you," she smiled again, a small realization setting in. "Is that why you came for me? Is that why you asked if I was the one?"

Peter shook his head and stared at her. "I just knew I had to save you." She shrugged, asked him why. "To save the world." It wasn't an answer. He knew that but it was it all he had.

"What do I have to do with the world?" she asked.

He thought about it. _Everything, _he wanted to say, but he didn't. He was honest with her. She deserved that.

"I don't know. Yet," he said.

She squirmed. She didn't like that answer either.

"I do know that I don't think I'd be here if it wasn't for you. I think I'd die," he said.

She smiled at this, he wasn't sure why but he smiled back. "I've died before. Its no big deal."

He laughed and coughed. "I'm not like you Claire. This healing thing is kinda new for me."

She looked at him. She did that a lot, made eye contact. He thought it was strange for a teenager to be so direct. He looked back and it was like looking deep into her soul. He couldn't look away, even if he had wanted to.

"You didn't know you were gonna heal when you dove off the building?" she asked.

He shook his head no. "Kinda stupid huh?"

Yes, it was stupid. Yes, he was stupid. This girl was sixteen and he was looking at her like she was something he could have. That was stupid. She smiled and says it wasn't. Her dad knocked again and she stood up, moved toward the door.

He watched her walk away and wished she could stop, stay there with him. But he knew he couldn't say it, that he shouldn't think it.

"You're totally my hero," she said before the door closed.

Hero. Peter was a hero.


	5. Part Two: Arthur

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes. _

_**A/n: I don't think I need to mention how much we love reviews…just in case, leave one. This chapter is a major building block in the story line. I hope you like it.**_

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**Part Two: Arthur**

He was seventeen when he met her. He was a senior; she was a junior. He was automatically attracted to her. She was blonde and beautiful. They made out under the bleachers after football games, in the ferris wheel at the carnival, in his car at look-out point. It was the fifties; it's just what you did when you were young. He was proud to be the cliché. It was before he knew better.

His father wasn't happy when he announced his plans to marry the girl instead of going to college. He loved her and he wanted to be with her forever, no matter what. The engagement lasted one month before she left him with no reason and Arthur moved on, to New York.

In the summer of 1964, he married Angela Shaw and he never saw his first love again.

At least, until now.

Now, over a decade later, he sat in a diner in Odessa, Texas and she was serving him dinner rolls. Arthur wasn't a man who easily lost his composure but she was a different story. She was older now, more mature, but he knew it was her as soon as he saw her.

He knew she was married now; he saw the gold ring on her finger when she sat his plate down. She moved quickly, hoping he wouldn't talk to her. And he didn't try. He couldn't. He could barely breathe because he wanted her so much. He wanted her more than he wanted of the most things he had fought to acquire in his lifetime. He would have her too, just as he had all of the other things.

He was waiting for her outside the diner when she locked the door. He said her name and she gasped. He stood behind her, his hands in his pockets. "I knew it was you," he said. "You look gorgeous. You haven't changed at all."

She was jittery. He could see it when she tried to talk and stuttered.

"Let's get some coffee," he said. It wasn't a question; it wasn't a demand. It was just the way Arthur said things. It was such a way that she could question it or deny him.

"I'm married," she said.

He laughed. "As am I. It's just coffee between…old friends," he said.

She wasn't like the women in Manhattan or LA. She wasn't enamored by money or presents; she wanted companionship, friendship, honesty. Part of him wanted that too and he would never have that with Angela. He was, after all, human and humans needed to connect with other people. This was a concept that his wife did not understand.

Coffee was awkward, at the beginning. Then they started talking about old times, about the fifties. Life was different then, she said. "It wasn't as complicated."

"It doesn't have to be complicated," he said. She traced the top of her cup as he spoke. "What happened back then? I thought we were happy."

She looked as if she was shocked. "We were. That's what I never understood."

Arthur asked her what she meant and she responded softly. "Your father said you couldn't tell me that you didn't want to marry me because you were weak. He told me not to hold you back but to let you go. He told me about the other girl, the one in the city. I saw the pictures. I didn't believe it at first but he said to let you go and if you wanted me, really, then you would come back. You never did."

Arthur sat in silence. "There was no other girl. There was only ever you. I sent you letters."

"I never got one."

They sat in silence. Drank their coffee in silence. Paid in silence. Walked to their cars in silence. He broke the silence by telling her the truth, something he'd almost forgotten how to do.

"I've always loved you," he said.

Then she kissed him and joined him in his hotel room.

….

It was more than sex with her. It always had been. She was open and honest, friendly. With her, he could talk about things—real issues. They weren't loaded with the idea of becoming a district attorney or with latest person with an ability that was found in Iowa. They talked about dreams, hopes, expectations that failed. She told him about her dream to be a writer and recited some of her own poetry. He told she was very promising.

Every time he came back to Texas, they would meet in his hotel and stay in bed for hours at a time. She told him about her frequently absent husband who spent weekends away on business. He wondered to himself if it was the same kind of business trips as he took.

He told her about his marriage to Angela, which was something all but forced on him. She was young and it was a good political arrangement for a man coming out of the forces. He talked about his one-year old son, Nathan, and all the fears and joys that came with being a father. She was quiet.

"I always wanted children but we found out that it was nearly impossible for us to conceive," she said. He held her as she cried.

Arthur was no fool. They were both married and neither of them would be able to change that. It just was. It was sex. It was friendship. It was nostalgia that he liked reliving. This was more than a one-night stand, an event he had experienced multiple times before. It was different.

It was constant, a safe place for him. He would enjoy it while he had it. It would be there when he thought about being young. He knew that Angela would find out, if she hadn't already. When she did, she would say nothing, as she always did, and she would redecorate the house. Life would go on, as it always did. He was fine with that, as long as she remained in it.

….

On a visit in April, she was quiet. They met over coffee again, not in a hotel as usual. She traced the top of her cup with her finger and he knew something was going on but he waited for her to tell him.

They rambled on about life, about him becoming the District Attorney. He was in the middle of a sentence about his office when she interrupted.

"We're moving to Beverly Hills," she said. He looked at her as she spoke. "There's a doctor there named Zimmerman who thinks he can help us conceive. He's been here a few times now and we're going to go there to his facilities and see if he can help."

"Zimmerman?" Arthur said. His brain was spinning. Zimmerman was the Company doctor. "How did he get your information?"

She shrugged. "He was at our doorstep one day. He just said he said he saw our file and we were perfect."

Arthur was trying to remember a conversation with Daniel. It was about the experiment they performed on Nathan being re-created in other infants. It was fuzzy now. But it involved Angela somehow. Yes. Angela was screening the clients. Normal people. People without abilities. Angela did this to him. She did it on purpose.

She looked at him. "I want this. We're going and I wanted to tell you. I thought we owed each other the truth this time."

Arthur nodded, said nothing else.

….

In August of the next year, Arthur heard that Zimmerman's experiment resulted in triplet girls. Months later he heard their parents were killed and the girls were separated, adopted out to different families. He avoided the situation, blocked it out of his thoughts. He didn't want to hear about the blonde girls who were created to have special abilities. He didn't want to know when they developed their powers. He didn't want to remember their mother.

He didn't want it to but her face replayed in his dreams when he slept beside his wife. The only time they dissolved was when he replaced her with other blondes.


	6. Part Three: Nathan

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes. _

_**A/N: Leave reviews! **_

_**Also, we're having a contest. I just decided. Tell your friends, readers—whoever—to come and read the story. If they leave a review and include a shout-out to you saying that you sent them, then at the end of 2 chapters (this one and the next one), the winner gets a prize. Legitimately. **_

_**I hope that you love this chapter. ~Dani**_

_**

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**Part Three: Nathan**

Years passed and Nathan tried to put the tragedy behind him. He blocked it out of his memory as often as he could. The secret was buried, buried somewhere under his parents' power and in the ground in Texas. The press wouldn't find it; he wouldn't mention it. To anyone.

Nathan tried only to move past it toward new things, toward a greater career. After he acquired a law degree, he was named the district attorney for the state of New York, like his father. He followed the plan his mother laid out: district attorney then Congressman, and a long journey to president. Most children got over that dream at twelve; Nathan always wanted it. Maybe Angela wanted it more.

He met his future wife at a fundraiser. She was pretty, brunette, rich. Her name was Heidi Pratt, "of the Pratts ", his mother told him.

"Go talk to her," Angela said. "She's single."

Nathan didn't protest as he walked up to the woman. He smiled at her and handed her a glass of champagne.

"These things are more fun with alcohol," Nathan said to the woman.

Heidi smiled and thanked him.

Heidi was an impressive woman. She was friendly, kind and compassionate. She was real, which Nathan appreciated. He liked her. He liked her partly because she was different. Maybe that was good; maybe he needed someone different to heal him.

….

The day of their wedding fell on late July. The preparations incorporated the entire household, the budget promised to be enormous. Nathan and Heidi would have preferred a simple ceremony with family and friends, but Angela would not hear of it. This was a day she had been waiting for since he was born.

….

On the night of this big event, Nathan found his father standing alone in the back yard. The wedding decorations, wreathes of flowers and countless bouquets, spread a sultry scent over the early summer night. The tables stood empty; guests had gathered inside the brilliantly lit halls, filled with music and laughter.

His father was facing away from the crowd: a melancholy figure gazing into the darkness.

Nathan studied him. Standing like this, separated from the crowd, Arthur appeared every bit the hero of his childhood, long before he knew anything about Linderman and the dealings his family was involved in. Before there was Meredith and their baby girl, even before Peter. Nathan missed those times.

"Dad?" he placed a hand on his father's shoulder. The older man stirred and turned. "What were you doing here all alone?"

"I was thinking how much it reminds me of when your mother and I got married."

Nathan stood with his father. Two Petrellis, studying the same view. Nathan thought about his wedding vows, his promise to be faithful to his wife. He believed it was possible. He believed he had found the one.

"Is that so?" Nathan wondered, dizzy from all the champagne and happiness. Stars smiled at him from the infinite skies. To his father, they seemed to be mocking them.

"Son, the two of us are more alike than you'd like to admit," Arthur said, raising his glass for a toast. "Inside we are the same—the same weakness, the same passion for the ones we love."

Nathan clinked their glasses to that, unaware the warning behind his father's speech.

….

Over the years Nathan tried to keep his promise, to be a good husband and father. And for some time, he seemed to do fine. This all changed when he agreed to take on the Linderman case. There were signs and warnings, some of which he heeded and some he brushed aside, but nothing prepared him to the accident that crippled the mother of his children.

The paralysis left a distinct mark on their marriage, and even while Heidi was silent, the guilt was doing its work. To ease the process of her recovery, they had moved to separate bedrooms, while Nathan adopted a habit of staying up late, working for his campaign. Things weren't going great anymore, no matter how much he denied it. And it only kept getting worse.

Then a woman appeared. She came into his life like an earthquake, unexpected and fast.

It wasn't like he hadn't had any affairs before. Nathan's secret passion for blondes had resurfaced from time to time: the attorney at the conference in Boston, a blonde waitress in Miami. None of them seemed to matter and in the long term posed no threat to his career or marriage. By the time Nathan arrived at home, greeted Heidi's welcoming arms and the boys eager to get their gifts, the affair was already forgotten. For Nathan, the outstanding family man, the small diversions had never happened.

Niki was different. She left a mark on him and he could not shake off. Even Heidi suspected something. Nathan was left confused, betrayed, and most of all, extremely annoyed with himself for letting Linderman exploit his old weakness like that.

With considerable effort, the affair was kept under the lid, and for a while, Nathan thought he was done with blondes. He was sure of it until one week before the elections, he received a late night phone call. It was the first time he'd heard Meredith's voice in over sixteen years. What she said was shocking: Claire was alive and looking for him.

Nathan hang up the phone and sat in his office, unsure what to do. All of a sudden his life was invaded by blondes.

….

Following his mother's advice, Nathan dealt with Meredith and Claire, eased his wailing conscience with wads of money, and started to view the elections as the turning point in his life. His days consisted of dodging the press, the feds, and Linderman's mafia—not to mention saving his brother Peter, who kept inventing new definitions for the word "trouble".

Now, Nathan was in his own trouble—and for the first time since he could remember, there could be no blame placed on Peter. This was him. He had no protection—except for the wires hidden in his suit. He was grateful for them; they were his last little bit of luck and he clung to the hope that they would do what they were supposed to. He thought about that, about the protection wrapped in electrical wires, as he closed the door of his suite and reported to the fed a few floors down.

The one thing he did not expect, was Niki, sitting on his bed, looking as stunning as ever. That was trouble in every sense of the word. Before he could guess the meaning of this, the ex-Navy officer was forcefully slammed into the wall, and the blonde tore his shirt open to exposed the rather clumsy wire.

The blonde seemed scared, if not a little deranged, keeping him at gunpoint while she rambled on about on about dead agents and someone named Jessica coming to kill him.

In a moment of confusion Nathan seized control and tried to get the gun. Surprisingly enough, he met no resistance, and the blonde stayed still underneath him, staring at him with her clear blue eyes like on the day they first met. The 9mm was still in her hands, but she made no effort to shoot him or push him off.

The agents were dead. He was in it alone.

"Linderman knows that you turned on him," she said. Nathan processed the information, all the while trying to focus on everything else but their bodies crushed together.

"Did you come here to kill me or warn me?" He searched her eyes for deceit, something to betray her. He saw nothing but the reflection of himself.

"Just trust me."

….

Then next time they met it was half a year later and under no less odd circumstances. It was awkward at first, both of them unsure where the other one was standing after everything that had happened. In a relatively short while, Nathan had digressed from a Congressman to a martyr to a drunk. The Company was his last chance to put an end to this madness and get back his life. It seemed he wasn't the only one.

During the time the two worked together, Nathan had a chance to re-evaluate his attachment to the particular blonde. There was no husband now, no wife, no family holding him back. Press no longer cared about him and she was free from Linderman. The only thing that was left was their connection, that precious bond between two individuals. Maybe, Nathan thought, once this was all over they could grab a coffee and get to know each other properly.

He never fully realized how much he had counted on that chance until Niki injected herself with the virus, taking the shot that was meant for him. Even with Maury made harmless, trapped in the prison of his own sordid mind, the damage could not be undone—the virus had mutated and there was no cure.

….

Nathan caught her once more before leaving. Waiting at the lab, her bags packed, she only needed some medications before she could drove back to her son in New Orleans. Both of them sensed the finality in that meeting, even as she forced a smile on her face and said she was going to make it for her son.

For the first time in his life, Nathan was at loss for words, trying to say something that would not sound like a goodbye, something to thank her for what she had done for him.

He wanted to tell her he wished he had helped her when she first called him, how he knew what it felt to be separated from one's children. That she was a good person and did not even know it.

Instead, he kissed her.

She returned it, slowly and tenderly, without the hesitance of the night in Las Vegas. She kissed him like she had waited for him, gripping his jacket as if he was slipping away. It was only later that Nathan realized it was the other way around.

With a heavy heart, Nathan let her go. Since she had laughingly declined his offer to fly her home, all he could do was watch her slender figure disappear in the hallway.

Her heels still echoed against the floor before it became silent again.

Nathan never saw her again but he was sure that he would feel the after shock of her presence in his life long after she was gone.


	7. Part Three: Sylar

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes. _

_**A/N: Leave reviews! I love them. Thanks for everyone who does b/c they keep us motivated. ~Dani**_

**Part Three: Sylar**

With old Gabriel out of the way, Sylar was set free to roam. One kill followed the other. Newspapers wrote about a brain-stealing maniac. Interpol was chasing the wind, and all the while seemingly random victims kept appearing in different locations all over the world.

Sylar's never ending quest for abilities took him far from his home, places that young Gabriel Gray had once dreamt of seeing, before it became unreachable. It was ironic that the kid who had given up all the scholarships to work in his father's workshop, was the now the number one wanted by the FBI.

Since each kill had made him more powerful, more difficult to trap, Sylar no longer cared who saw him or how he exposed his powers. The authorities were helpless: Sylar took what he wanted whenever he wanted it.

One particular time almost got him killed in Odessa, Texas. Somehow, everyone seemed to be aware about his coming and what was meant to be an easy kill in the girls locker room ended up being a forty feet fall from the top of a high school building.

What happened next was a blur of pain, needles and test tubes. For most of the time, the serial killer was out cold, unaware of the experiments conducted on him. And that could have been considered as mercy.

"I don't see the reason to keep him alive. The risk far outweighs the gain." Bennett stared at the unconscious maniac. Sylar, tired and tortured, was sleeping like a baby.

"We got our orders from the highest," his colleague argued, sharing the disappointment. "There can be no killing until they say so."

Bennett grunted and turned off the lights.

"I guess the least we could do is make him comfortable," Sylar heard him say as they left the room. The other one laughed and closed the door.

….

Sylar's first attempt at escaping this facility ended with a failure. Eden was dead and her brains shattered into millions of pieces; it was a complete waste. As soon as the Haitian returned, Sylar was moved to another cell, hooked up with tranquilizers and tied to the bed so tight he could not feel his arms or legs.

Late that night, after Bennett had done his magic, he got another visitor. The light was switched on the same way, but the footsteps were feminine. Sylar turned his head, as much as the straps let him, surprised to see a familiar face.

"You," Sylar drawled through the haze. He may have been drugged and delusional, but it was her, Elle, standing there just as real as the straps around his arms.

"You should not have done that, Gabriel," Elle reprimanded, watching him through the glass.

The girly look was gone. Here, she was not an angel, but an agent. A killer, like him.

Sylar wondered if she had known Eden, if they had been friends. He could only hope.

"They're gonna have to put you down for that," Elle stated quietly. He might have heard sadness in her voice. Spots were dancing before his eyes and he was too drugged to tell.

"It's all your fault," Sylar sneered, trying to make eye contact. "You made me into that monster."

Elle pulled back a little and frowned. He found himself wishing there was no glass between them.

"Don't you care that you're going to die?"

Sylar let out a throaty laugh. The straps tightened around each gasp of breath, embracing him with a vice-like clutch.

"I'll see you soon, Elle. I promise."

….

It turned out that Sylar had a hard time with keeping that promise.

For some reason, the Company seemed reluctant to set Elle against him. Starting from Eden, then Candice, they used up all their aces before it came down to her. But when the moment presented itself, it meant guns and bullets and ice-blue flashes. And he under-estimated her, her arm in a sling, her eyes cold and determined. She managed a few hits; he managed a shot before the escape. Sylar had to admit that in the time he spent hating her she had grown fiercer.

Out of all the Company agents, Sylar had never spent as much time trying to leave any of them alive like he did with Elle. There was something that captivated him other than the desire for vengeance or the beauty of the game. She was dangerous and unreachable. He admired her power and wanted it, just as he used to want her. Sometimes he had trouble making the difference between one and the other.

Elle was the law of nature; he was the science that ruled it and used it for his advantage. In the course this game of cat and mouse, he learned to enjoy it, purposefully leaving her last on his list. His voice would follow her footsteps, taunting her, her bewilderment growing with each victim she failed to save. From time to time, he even lingered near the crime scenes, letting their glances cross across the crowd, like old acquaintances, and then he was gone.

He also saw that with each power he took, the circle grew narrower and victims harder to catch. Eventually, it would have to be her.

It would have to be her because he was a serial killer now. Serial killers did not harbor secret feelings, least of all for their enemies who had sworn to take them down.

When it came down to this, Sylar did what he had to do. He survived.


	8. Part Three: Peter

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes. _

_**A/N: This chapter is one of the few highly cannon ones. But, that just means that I know you'll like it. AND I know this is early but it's a gift to you in celebration of Halloween!!! Leave us lots of sweet reviews. ~ Dani**_

**Part Three: Peter**

Peter looked around the room, not really sure what happened. It was fuzzy. He remembered Sylar and Suresh. And dying. He died. He glanced over his shoulder while he gasped in air. It was Claire, on the floor beside him, with tears in her eyes and a large piece of glass in her hands.

"You saved my life," he said.

She smiled. "I guess we're even now." Then he reached over, wiped away a tear.

…

Peter stood in Nathan's office, all the news of recent events settling in his brain. He was dead, now alive. More importantly, Claire was Nathan's daughter. His niece. He shuddered. It sounded weird. He had developed feelings for this teenage girl and she was his niece. Nathan's daughter.

Peter looked at the piece of glass in his hand, mesmerized that it killed him. Then it was gone and he was alive. This meant something big.

Nathan looked at his little brother. "I don't know who I am without you."

Peter scoffed, listed back his accomplishments. Nathan Petrelli, top of his class, valedictorian, most likely to.

Nathan looked at Peter. "Who's to say I'm not that because of you? Most of what we are is what people expect us to be. If you take them away, nothing means anything."

Peter smiled. "It's a good thing I can't die then."

Nathan was confused so Peter explained about Claire, about her regeneration, their inability to die. They talked about the fate, the bomb. He couldn't live with that.

Then he remembered Claire. She needed to know her father, wanted to know him. He could only imagine her face as she awaited their conversation. The pain, the excitement, the confusion. Nathan said he couldn't deal with her right now.

Peter shook his head. "She's not just some girl. She's your daughter," he said it loudly, so it would sink into his head. Both of their heads. "You know mom wants to send her to Paris? You can't let her go. Don't you get it? Claire's the girl I saved in Texas. Save the cheerleader."

"Save the world, I get it. I remember," Nathan said.

"And she turns out to be your daughter. Your _daughter_," he said it loudly again. Claire is Nathan's daughter. "Look around. Everything I've said would happen is happening now. It's real. Now, maybe that Claire's here, I don't blow up. Maybe she's here to save us. Talk to her Nathan. We need her."

…

His mother was packing a bag, she said something about gloves when he knocked. Angela excused herself, gave him a look as she exited.

He told her she couldn't leave. It was the only thing he could say. She shook her head, said she had to leave until the election was over. It didn't sound like her; it sounded like his mother.

"I found you in Odessa. We save each other you end up being my niece. This isn't just random. It's destiny," he said.

"My father sacrificed himself so I could have a life, not a destiny. You can't save me Peter, not this time."

"And Nathan can?"

Claire looked at him. "Nathan can keep me safe."

"Safe? You can't get hurt! Your here to save the world," Peter said. Claire looked at him.

"How? I'm sorry, I can't go around chasing some fantasy."

"It's not some fantasy, ok? I explode. I see it. I wipe out this whole city—you, Nathan, everyone."

This got her attention. He saw it in her face. "You explode?"

Like a nuclear bomb, he said. The image played in his head when she mentioned something about it being like Ted.

"Ted? Who the hell is Ted?" Peter asked.

--

Peter and Claire were smiling, walking into Nathan's office. Then something happened, Claire saw something and freaked out. It was the man she was running from, the man her father took a bullet to keep her away from, and he was talking to Nathan. Peter defended him.

"Why do you keep running back to him?" Claire asked, her eyes on him.

"Because he's my brother," Peter said.

Claire said he was scared. Peter agreed. He didn't know if he could handle it. She suggested running. It was appealing but he said he couldn't.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because if we save ourselves, who's gonna save everyone else?" And she looked at him, like she finally understood. "You're not alone, Claire."

….

Claire walked down the stairs like a girl on a mission. She was leaving and she wasn't going to say goodbye. She tossed him a nonchalant goodbye when he called her out on it. Peter stopped her, said he figured out a way to save the world. He handed a her a gun, large, heavy, black. She looked at him.

" Right though the back of the head," he said. "You know the spot—where you pulled the glass from."

Claire shook her head. "My destiny cannot be to shoot you; the universe cannot be that lame."

"You can't run away from who you are Claire. This bomb is happening," Peter said.

She asked him how he knew and he showed her the pictures, told her it was going to kill everyone. She said he drew Ted in the picture. He was there, in Kirby Plaza.

"Don't you see Claire? You're part of this; you have to do this," he said.

...

Peter turned around. Claire was sitting on a bench in Kirby Plaza. They were looking for Ted, to no avail. There was no sign of him. Claire was crying when he asked her what was wrong.

She said she wasn't normal. "I tried to pretend that I was and I just hurt everyone. My mom. My dad. I ruined everything because of what I am. I hated it. But you," she looked up at him, "when I met you I finally felt like I was part of something."

"That's funny," Peter said. "I felt the same thing when I met you." He reached his hand over, wiped away her tears. She smiled her sad smile before Noah Bennet appeared with his own entourage.

That's when it happened. Ted was there. Peter yelled Claire's name at the sight of his glowing hands. She took the gun out of her purse. Then he was ok. He controlled it.

…

"You know, I've been thinking after we save the world, I may go on patrol," Claire said. "You know, jumping in front of bullets and dragging people out of burning buildings."

Peter laughed. "You're not going to catch me wearing a cape, zipping around with my underwear outside my pants."

Claire laughed. "Why do we have to rent a car, can't we just fly to Nebraska?"

Peter turned around and gave her a look.

"In a plane," she said. Peter turned around again, smirking.

When he heard Sylar there, he grabbed Claire and they got off the streets with Ted in tow.

….

Claire stood, staring at him. He was glowing, about to explode. She held the heavy gun in her hand and pointed it at Peter. She was already shaking, already crying.

"Do it. Do it. You're the only one, Claire," he said.

Claire was sobbing now. "Tell me there's another way, please!"

"Shoot me," he said. "There's no other way."

And then Nathan came down, stood between his brother and his daughter. The future wasn't written in stone. He grabbed Peter and saved them all. All but Peter.

….

Claire moved on to California. To Claire Butler. She left Claire Bennet with Peter's memory.

…

Peter spent his days with a blonde. Not the one he wanted to see, not the one he wanted to make sure was okay. This one was hardened, tainted by the world, manipulative, crazy even. He didn't want to be there anymore. He only wanted to get back home, back to his family, back to the cheerleader with the sad smile.

Even through the distance, he felt like she needed him.


	9. Part Four: Arthur

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes. _

_**A/N: Ok, this is one of my favorite chapters. We wrote this chapter before we wrote anything else in this story (there were lots of changes throughout) and it really shaped where we went and how we did it. I absolutely love it. I hope that all of you do too! As always, leave those reviews that we love so much! ~Dani**_

_**Also, Maggie: Thanks for always reviewing! I can never reply to yours but I always get them. I love how encouraging & insightful you are! Keep them coming! ~D**_

**Part Four: Arthur**

She was beautiful in an unearthly way. Frail and sensitive while Angela was unyielding and strong. A creature like that was hardly fit for a life with a Company man. Bob had pointed that out several times already, contemplating over a glass of beer, weighing the pros and cons of such marriage. Arthur listened like old friends do—which he was, in a way. They had certainly known each other for a long time.

"It's great to have you here," Bob said, gratitude shining behind his round glasses. "It means a lot to me."

Little did he know of the secret meetings and hope that lit his friend's eyes when no one was watching. The gentle touches that made Arthur feel like in his mid-twenties again. It wasn't something he'd planned, it just happened. The soft blonde caught his eye in the hallway of the office building. She was so out of place there, coming to bring her "friend" some lunch. Arthur smiled at the short woman with blue eyes as he led her toward her destination. He said his name was Arthur before Bob opened his door.

The next time he saw her she was leaving. He was too and offered to walk her out. Their walk to the car then turned into a coffee around the corner. She was funny, beautiful and had this aire about her that drew people to her. She could look at him in a way that Angela hadn't in years. It was like she had this ability of shocking his heart back to life, making it beat again.

They were in too deep before he even knew it had started, the code names, the hotels, the secret apartment. He would just lay beside her, her blonde locks covering his pillow, and stare. He smiled like a fool. It was more than sex. It was relationship and it was something he had missed. For hours he could just sit with her, have a conversation, no secrets involved. She understood him, understood power, understood failure. She accepted him like no one else could.

They were completely honest with each other. He knew that she was dating Bob. She knew that he was married with a son. That didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling they had. He'd played this game before, but this time it was different. This was love.

He knew Angela felt it when he came home, the hope, the joy, the desire that wasn't for her. It hadn't been for years, even when he gave in to his wife's touches. Every day he came home later, left earlier so he could talk with her, hold her, make love to her. Angela never asked about it. Not once. She did, however, redecorate the living room, the den, the bedroom.

Bob looked at him, as clueless as ever. "Any time," Arthur mouthed into his beer and downed the smile that only cheated wives were able to detect.

As it was another one of those nights, Arthur took the time to look at him, really _look_ at him, and perhaps finally see what his lover saw in this guy to even consider his proposal. Bob wasn't handsome, nor did he have what people would refer to as a charismatic presence. Far from that. Under Arthur's jealous scrutiny, the man seemed to shrink into something even less than a rival. He had a stabile income, some several years and a kid less in his baggage, but he was still hopelessly boring and methodical. An ideal husband for a mundane and adventureless life. That was all Bob could offer a wife.

That offer had always seemed miniscule to Arthur until one day his lover ended their meetings saying there was no future for them. She said she wanted a home, the whole set with house and kids. It was like music to Bob's ears and a train wreck to Arthur's heart. He knew she would never be happy in that life and he was going to save her, whatever it took.

Bob wiped his mouth, a trace of beer shining on the back of his hand now. Arthur looked away, feeling some evil spirit take over him that wanted to scream out in blind rage that Bob didn't even love her. All that filled that early balding head of his was an heir, someone to take up his business, to inherit all his millions when he was gone. The fact that he, Bob Bishop, had just proposed to the most beautiful, giving female in the world, was beyond his comprehension

He proposed...but she hadn't given an answer yet.

Arthur told her to wait. So she did. It wasn't over.

….

He was a lawyer and he knew all the repercussions that divorce would bring. He knew Angela would never give up without a fight. But this was a fight for life and death. His lover's life. His life. A real life, with real love. Not some imitation. Arthur had lived like that and he wanted to spare her from making the same mistake.

He felt sorry for Nathan, he really did. But he wasn't so young anymore and one day he'd understand why his father had to do this. Why he left his family for a blonde, as he was certain his wife would refer to the act later.

He looked at the ring he had bought that day – platinum, not gold – and he felt happy, for the first time in years. It was all set. The phone ran again. The third time in ten minutes. Something in him told him not to answer it. There was a vague fear shadowing his mind that Angela might have dreamt of this and wanted to stop him at the last minute.

The phone kept ringing and ringing, annoying him like a fly that wouldn't go away. He ignored the sound as long as he could, until, for the sake of his sanity, he picked it up and grunted "Arthur Petrelli" into the receiver.

It was his wife.

_Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant..._ He repeated the word, having forgotten about the rest of the conversation. It took one word to turn his future upside down. One word to end his dreams, the life he couldn't even have a taste of. All that because of one little unplanned Petrelli, growing in its mother's stomach, eating a way into his father's life. This child was already destroying his plans, tearing them up one by one.

It was over. He crushed the piece of shining platnium like a bug under his fist. It was amazing how something so small could have so much power.

He would let Angela choose the name.


	10. Part Five: Peter

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes, And if we use some of the canon quotes they are borrowed._

_**A/N: Well everyone, it's that day again! That means, a fabulous update from my favorite story for my favorite readers! I love the reviews; they are amazingly encouraging. And, some of you asked questions that we didn't think to answer before and we added those small details to the story. I hope those keep coming too! Maybe you'll notice the additions in future chapters. **_

_**I wanted to point out one more thing (I just noticed it while posting this chapter) and that's the last line of the last chapter and the subject of this one. That was pure coincidence, but a genius one. (Let me know if you catch it!) Anyway, enough of the babble. Leave some love! ~Dani**_

* * *

**Part 5: Peter**

Peter ran down the alley and listened for Claire's breath behind him. He saw the entrance to a sewer and led them inside. Whatever happened to him, he had to keep her safe. He had to keep her from becoming the girl that killed him. "We'll keep going and then, we'll separate," he said.

She stopped. "Separate?"

Great. She was going to argue. "I told you, you have to go home."

"I'm not going home Peter."

He knew that look. After two years with her, he knew all of her looks. She was going to be defiant.

"You still have a chance, Claire!" He said. He looked at her shake her head and wanted nothing more than to tell her how much she meant to him, to beg her, promise her anything if she went home. He knew he couldn't do that.

"I left home so I could fight these people. And I have. I can protect myself and now I can protect you," she said. Her voice was softer and he knew that she wasn't saying something, that something was hurting her. He wanted to know what it was but he couldn't ask. Not now.

"That's the problem," he said.

"What's this all about?" She was giving him that look. That Claire look. The look she had when she meant business. He took a breath.

"Look, that alley back there, that's where you kill me."

"What?" It was almost a whisper.

"In the future. You find me and you shoot me. Twice. Right in the chest." He knew he was being harsh, throwing all this information at her like he was, but it was the only way. And she could handle it.

"What are you talking about? Why would I do that?"

"Because what you are becoming is a killer," he said. He looked at her and his voice softened. "And I'm trying really hard to make sure that future that I saw does not come true. And I don't know if I can do it because with everything that happens, everything, you're still becoming this woman who—" He couldn't say it.

"Who what?" she asks. "Who kills you?" She shook her head. "Stop saying that."

Peter sighed. He put a hand on her cheek. "Claire just, just go home…Please."

Claire touched the hand that was on her face. "No. That's not going to happen and its all your fault. You should never have come to Odessa to save me; you should never have become my friend or my hero. And now I can't leave you because I have a favor to return."

They were both quiet. Peter reflected on all the moments that put them right in this situation. Claire simply stared at him. He was going to speak up when they heard the voices gaining on them.

"Run. Go!" Claire yelled. And Peter, who was defenseless, ran.

He ran away from the images of Claire's smile, from Claire in a cheerleading uniform, from the Claire he woke up to after death…twice, from the Claire he lost. He ran away from this Claire, the one who wanted to save him and from the future Claire, who lived for killing him. Then he heard her screaming and he turned around.

He had to think on his feet. Luckily, he knew that smell. She was yelling for them to let go of her when he got to her. "You've got two choices," he said. "Let her go or you die."

Flint laughed at him. "You and what army?"

"Peter, what are you doing?" Claire yelled.

"I don't need an army to kick your ass, Flint. I can do that myself; I don't even need my powers," Peter said. Flint didn't hear Knox yell about the gas before Peter and Claire were gone, running above ground again.

….

Claire stopped. Peter saw her ahead of him, hunched over, gasping for breath. He put his hand on her back. She looked at him. There was something pleading in her eyes, something that was burning, yearning. He said her name softly.

"Tell me it's not true, that I didn't kill you," she straightened up before him. He took her hand but she jerked it away. "I can't. That _can't _happen, Peter!"

"It won't, Claire." He took her face in his hands, "I promise." Claire nodded in his hands, tears falling down her cheek. Peter pulled the blonde close. "We'll change it," he whispered in her ear.

"How can you know for sure?" She met his gaze with reddened eyes. He stared at down at her.

How could he know? This was the girl he saved, his destiny, his friend, his Claire. "I trust you," he said. It was himself that he didn't trust, not in moments like these.

She huffed and turned away. "Yeah, now. But _now _I'm not the killer you saw me as in the future." She looked him again. "What can happen to make me kill you?" There it was again, that look that burned into the deepest part of his soul. A part that no one else could touch. It left a mark there, a mark that hurt.

"I don't know." The girl shook her head and looked at the ground. He put his hands on her shoulders. "I wish I had answers, Claire. I wish I could change everything that's happened to you since Kirby Plaza and make it all better, make it all make sense."

"Oh, Peter…" She looked up at him again, her blonde hair falling in her face. They stared at each other for what felt like forever as the city moved on around them. That look returned. It held more feelings that words could ever express. But Claire wanted to try to say them.

She wanted to tell her hero how she felt about him, that he was more than her friend, that she loved him. She loved him from the first day—before he even saved her. She wanted to—but she couldn't. She could only repeat her gratitude, the one thing that could be translated into some form of love. "Thanks for saving me…again."

Peter smiled a lopsided smile. "Anytime." She laughed a soft laugh.

They were silent for another moment and Peter tried to decide if he should ask her the question that weighed most on his mind since seeing her. He decided against it but it poured out of his mouth before he could stop it. "What happened in California?"

She moved away from him. "I don't want to talk about it. We should keep going."

"Claire," he said. "It's me. I need to know what happened. I have to know if I'm going to help you."

"You can't now Peter. It's too late. We can't change what's happened," she said.

"Nathan told me it was about Sylar." Claire stopped moving when he said that. She froze and shut down and he knew at that moment it was bad. "Claire?"

"I told the future you. I didn't know that he wasn't you. I thought you were mad or something. He didn't say much," she said.

"He was a character. Tell me," he said.

She nodded and they walked slowly together. Her voice was as quiet as the simple tears that fell down her face as she recounted the event from days before, the day that Sylar came to her house.

Peter was quiet, too, but his anger was building up inside of him. He wanted nothing more than to kill Sylar—with the exception of holding Claire. It was too much. She had to deal with too much. It was one thing after another and it all started with Sylar. It would end with Sylar.

"I promise you Claire that I will keep you safe—from Sylar, from Flint and Knox, everyone. I promise." He wiped a tear from her cheek and she smiled

"Well, what do we do now? Why are they after me?"

"They work for my father," he looked at her changed expression. "He must want you for something."

She shook her head. "What though? I'm nothing special."

"There's only one person who might know—ma."

Claire sighed and followed Peter as they walked down the street. "It's a shame your dad's a psychopath who stole your powers. Teleporting would be so much faster."

Peter laughed. "What? Can't take a run, Cheerleader?"

She smacked him on the arm and took off. Peter followed her toward the car-filled street, ignoring the words that replayed in his mind. True words about love. Love that was hidden in sideways looks and gratitude. Love that took everything to keep hidden.


	11. Part Five: Nathan

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes, And if we use some of the canon quotes they are borrowed._

_**A/N: As requested by Lara-Van…here's an early update. ~Dani**_

**Part Five: Nathan**

Nathan never dreamed he would see Niki again. That's why, when she was standing there in front of him, he was almost speechless. It was ironic that he was praying when she walked in, no doubt God's way at a sick joke.

"The nurse said it would be ok," she started. He didn't expect her to rattle him so badly.

"It's fine. I was…what are you doing here?" He asked it roughly, trying to block out the memories of their time together, of their last encounter.

Niki just smiled. "You're right, I should have phoned but I have quite the proposition for you congressman," she said.

Nathan wanted to laugh. Her last proposition didn't end so well for him. "No thanks," he said with a smile.

But she kept talking. She said she was there on behalf of Governor Malden and that she was his advisor. "We both agree that you would make an excellent choice to fill the seat left by Gerald Dickinson's untimely death."

Nathan was smiling; she did her homework. He was impressed. "Niki, it's me. What the hell are you talking about?"

She paused. "Did you just call me Niki?"

"Yea, Niki," he said again. He knew she liked to play games but this was ridiculous. "Cut the crap."

She shook her head. "Do you think that you know me?"

Nathan scoffed. "Know you?" He smiled. "The word biblically comes to mind."

She just looked at him.

"Niki. Niki Sanders. We met in Vegas and had a pretty good time, if I recall…"

She said he was mistaken. "My name is Tracy Strauss."

He was confused now. She was Niki. She looked like Niki, sounded like her. "You're not Niki Sanders?"

"Not in the slightest," she said. "You can check me out if you like," she added. Nathan nodded, deciding to believe this was who she thought she was.

He looked over her card after she left, with thoughts of Niki in his head.

….

Tracy wasn't as his swearing-in ceremony. It was odd, considering she was the one who got him there. He stood outside her door, trying to decide about knocking. He wanted to make sure that she was ok. When he got inside, she was quiet. There were only a few seconds of talking before she asked him about Niki and their time together.

"You should already know all about that—since you are Niki."

"I'm not Niki Sanders. I only found out about her existence two days ago. You have to believe me."

Nathan stared at her. She spoke differently, dressed differently. Maybe she wasn't Niki. Either way, he didn't want her to be upset so he agreed, half-heartedly, that she was not Niki Sanders. It was only minutes later when she announced she was going New Orleans to find Niki, to find the truth.

….

Nathan saw her about to jump. He couldn't lose her again; he had to save her, to show her that she wasn't alone. Linderman sent him to her for that reason. He caught her in his arms, just as she fell toward the water below. She shook in his arms, almost in shock that he could fly. He liked that. He liked showing off for her, making her smile. He took her on a small adventure before escorting her to her apartment.

"I have something to show you," she said to him later. She touched the wine glass and it turned to ice. They were silent for a moment. "I just found out I could do this. I thought I was alone but you—"

"You aren't alone. Not ever," he said.

Then, Nathan kissed her. He fought it for weeks but he had to give in. She made him feel different and he liked it. She reminded him of who he was, who he could be again. The kiss moved them to her bedroom and they spend the night intertwined in each other's arms.

"So what were you doing on that bridge?" Nathan asked in the morning.

"I killed a man," she said softly.

….

There was something about seeing people trapped in a cocoon by someone that you trusted that made you doubt the things around you. Nathan had seen some crazy things in the last two years but this was the top of the list. The top.

He and Tracy had gone to Mohinder for help, because he was one of the good guys. Was. Now he was the guy who turned people into…into something that was preserved in a cocoon. And Nathan, Nathan was the good guy, the guy who made the calls to the Company and waited for their arrival. He was the guy who did the saving. It felt odd. He hadn't been that guy in a while, not since Kirby Plaza, not since Linderman.

"Do you think they are alive?" Tracy asked.

"Do you think they're human?"

She moved toward them and he watched her. "What if they can't breathe? We need to help them," she said.

He told her to be careful. He'd said that a lot in the past year. What a year. One year is all it took and they ended up here, in these reversed roles. Everything seemed to work against them, against him. It was an endless movement of mistakes and freak accidents. He knew where it all started too. It all started here, in Isaac's loft, with the things that he painted. It started with Peter. With Sylar. With Claire.

He heard something hit the floor and looked toward Tracy. One of the cocoon men was choking her and he ran over to help her. The next thing he knew it was shaking and they stepped away. He turned around to see Noah.

"I told you not to touch anything," he said.

Nathan was surprised that it's Noah, his daughter's other father. "You," he said. Then there was something else, someone else. He saw the fire before he saw her. "Meredith." It was like a ghost. He knew she was alive but seeing her here, now, wasn't what he expected. But then, nothing today had gone his way.

"Nathan." Meredith stopped the flames and looked at him. "Well…I see you've still got a weakness for blondes."

….

This was an awkward moment, to say the least. Nathan, Noah and Meredith stood in silence as Tracy tried to process all the information that was just thrown at her.

"Ok, let me get this straight. She's the biological mother of your illegitimate daughter and he's her adoptive father?"

Noah nodded and looked at Nathan. "That sounds about right," he said. Tracy nodded slowly, almost amused. "Did Suresh inject you with anything?"

"Yeah, a tranquilizer. Why? What's he doing in there?" Nathan asked.

"Building a nest. Laying eggs. Who the hell knows…" Noah said. "You'll both have to come into the Company for testing."

"For what?" Tracy asked.

Noah paused. "Just to make sure your both still normal." They all are silent for a moment, processing the possibility before Noah walked away.

Nathan shifted on his feet. He looked from Meredith to Tracy, then back to Meredith. His past and his present, all pushed together and silent. "So, you're working with him?"

"For now," Meredith said.

Nathan tried to think of something else to say when his phone rang. It was perfect timing. He was weary of leaving them alone but then, he didn't want to stand there any longer. When he answered it was Claire. She and Peter needed him.

….

Claire and Peter were sitting on the bed when he came in. It was disheartening, seeing his daughter on the bed with his half-naked brother. Sure, it was almost ridiculous to think about it in any way than what it was—a niece doctoring her uncle's wounds—but they were already closer than he would ever be with his own daughter. It was a cold truth.

"Claire," he said. She hugged him and it was less awkward than the last time. Then she saw Tracy behind him and he said that she was good. He saw the distrust in Claire's eyes, or maybe it was recognition. "What happened? Why aren't you healing?

Even though she was here now, standing before him, he would always have that memory of burying his daughter, of saying goodbye to someone who was part of him. She was his heart. Even when he said hello to her two years ago, held her in his arms in an awkward hug, that's the image he had of her, a child in a coffin. He knew that he would always carry it with him. It wasn't something that he'd be able to forget.

"He's the one who put mom in the coma," Peter said. Nathan looked at him in disbelief.

"Pete, this is our dad here…."

"Believe me dads aren't always what they seem," Claire said.

It was cold, painful. Nathan looked at her, unsure of what to say. He just stared at her, his eyes just as hard as hers. He knew that was meant for him; he knew it but he couldn't fix it right now. There were too many other things going on. He would worry about Claire later.

….

When Tracy offered to help him at Pinehearst, he didn't see a problem with it. Not right away, anyway. The day he saw her talking to his father alone, he suspected that she was trouble. When he confronted her, she said it was all just to get him to the White House with her as First Lady. Nathan found it an intriguing possibility, one he latched on to as the goal for all he was doing.

Then it all happened. Tracy picked her side, her side against Nathan. She betrayed him with his father and he was going to the same to her. That's why it was easy to give her name to the president. She betrayed him after all. It was a game to her from the beginning, a way for her to get power. He wouldn't allow that.

Now she was calling him, trying to bargain Peter for her life. He was more wanted that she was, more powerful. She knew how to play but so did he.

He met her at the rendezvous. Nathan predicted a trap and brought "his team" with him. She stood her ground; Peter did too. Peter had Nathan's life in his hands, a gun pointed to big brother's head, spouting words of betrayal and confusion. Noah had one on Peter. Neither of them really wanted to shoot. Peter was the one to retreat. He touched Nathan's arm, took his power and flew away. Tracy was taken into custody, an example for everyone else.

…

Claire was the one to begin a change in him. That first night in Mexico when she saved them both, he was proud to call her his daughter. He empowered her to change it all. And so he would. By the time Nathan got life back on track, it was too late for some people. Tracy was one of them; she died in a cold snap, freezing Nathan's heart in the process.


	12. Part Five: SylarGabriel

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes, And if we use some of the canon quotes they are borrowed._

_**A/N: Here's to yall. Because that's why we write anyway and I LOVE all the feedback. Amazing. **_

_**This chapter is longer than any of the others (I think anyway) so this may be the only update this week. We'll see what happens. Anyway, have a great one! Enjoy. ~Dani**_

**Part Five: Sylar/Gabriel**

Sylar was barely conscious. He was sure he was imagining this conversation. Angela Petrelli was there, standing over him, calling him son. Calling herself his mother. She took him over, guided him, prepared him for the things that were coming.

Peter took the news the hardest. Called him a liar, tried to kill him. But he, of course, was unstoppable. He didn't worry about Peter; he only hoped that he would change his mind. In one swift moment, one that happened quicker than he realized, he went from Sylar the killer, to Noah Bennet's partner.

….

Despite the newfound family and purpose, Gabriel walked around the Company in a nameless search of something. The building was large and consisted of three wings. Some parts were built to keep people in, some were offices and others provided conditions for various experiments—procedures he was familiar with from his stay at Hotel Primatech in Odessa.

Most of the cells stood empty now, their occupiers fled during the electrical failure, the one that he and Elle caused. One of the rooms stood out from the rest, better furnished and with odd scorched marks on the walls, marks that he recognized. Even as Gabriel stood there, the workers were busy moving things out, removing everything that had once made the cell habitable.

"Elle Bishop." Sylar slid his fingers along the desk as it was taken away. Little memories stored in wood. "Is that hers?"

"Used to be," the workman corrected. "Not the best agent around but sure as hell not as bad as she was treated. No one deserves to be treated like that."

Gabriel did not understand what that meant but the man refused to say anything more. Loyalty went far inside the Company, and he was not worth the risk of being reported. Petrelli or not, he would always be Sylar to them.

Left alone in Elle's old room, Gabriel had to find the answers on his own. One of the things he had learned from his newest ability was that lives were like fingerprints—they left a mark on everything they touched.

Elle had belonged to this room. Years of her presence still lingered there, engraved in the patched furniture, written in the etching of time on the bare, stone walls. Gabriel listened the stories they told, each from a different age, and put the pieces together.

He wasn't sure why Angela gave him this gift. He guessed it was to make him appreciate lives more by replacing the empathy he lacked with a more logical attachment. Or maybe it was simply a belated birthday present from a guilty mother.

In the end, the ability was his and Gabriel could use it for whichever cause he wanted. Even to expose his mother and her plans to remove Elle Bishop—a weakness, a threat in the form of a girl—from the Company. He knew what she did but he didn't know why.

Gabriel sat on this newfound mass of information, unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed for not finding her here. But that was not the end.

He would see her again. Sooner or later they would run into each other. This was how it worked. He waited for that day to come with an uneasy anticipation.

….

The short time Gabriel spent under his father's guidance was a breakthrough in many ways. Arthur seemed to know a lot, things Gabriel himself never knew about himself, things that made the killing unnecessary. Arthur told him that he was giving him a chance to try this new way, this thing that could move him past killer.

He was lead into a dark room, dark except the blue sparks that shot out towards him. He realized it was her and he took a breath. Here it became clear how much Sylar had underestimated her anger.

Shackled like a wild animal in a Pinehearst cell, she was a far cry from the angel that entered his shop a year ago. With not even enough fury to take him down, she was a broken, desperate creature, frying him through her own pain, daring him. What if his revenge got a little out of hands, what if she received more than was due? He fought that part of himself, the part of himself that wanted to grant her wish and take her life. It was too late to take back her father's death, give her back her purpose. He could only try to make it even, let her have what she wanted, what she deserved. Vengance.

"Murderer," she kept yelling at him, her voice no longer sweet or tender. Sylar did not mind. After such a long period of her absence from his life, he would take whatever she had for him. Because this was better than nothing at all.

Elle burned hot and then burned out, destroyed him too many times to keep track. She let his skin grow back, only to be burned off again. Then it happened. Through the volts of electricity, something besides Sylar's clothes had peeled off. Shreds of old Gabriel, the one she briefly knew, the one already marred when they first met, became exposed under her fury. He accepted this, full on, baring more tender flesh to her scorching anger. If that was what she wanted, he would give it to her.

In the end, he got her power. There was no blood involved, no death. After the sparks settled, there was conversation, encouragement, practice, laughter. They moved past something and toward something else. Sylar wasn't sure what to call it, nor what to expect. It was merely an ability that would connect them. Elle was part of him now and probably forever.

….

During one of their "shooting" practices, Arthur interrupted the couple and said he needed a favor from his son. Something to do with Claire. His granddaughter. Gabriel's niece.

Gabriel paused, unsure whether adding kidnapping to an already long list of crimes against his family was such a great idea. Arthur, the great leader that he was, often failed to see the little pieces that shook the grand scheme. Ones like Noah Bennet.

Elle flinched at the idea of going against him, knowing what he could do to protect his daughter, but Gabriel was already in. He even had that "yes sir" face to match it.

That was bad.

"I'm coming with you," she decided then, looking earnestly at Gabriel, then his father. Arthur saw his son shrink with concern, but Elle was capable of holding her own. After all, she was raised to be a company girl.

Gabriel could not believe what was happening. The idea that she was willing to go there with him made his head spin.

There was love, and then there was forgiveness. Elle was capable of both. He was no watchmaker any more. And he was trying not to be a killer. She once offered him redemption, forgiveness, so why couldn't she do it again?

"Are you okay with this, dad?" Gabriel held his breath.

"I think the two of you together..." the old man stalled, savoring the moment. "It's a good pairing."

….

On the plane, Elle grew restless. The nearer they got to take-off, the more it showed.

"You're nervous about Bennett," Gabriel noted. Her body language left no room for denial.

"No. Not that..."

"Then what is it?" he asked. He was worried. She could have been having second thoughts.

"It's just..." Elle looked extremely pale. "Planes," she scoffed and grabbed at the armrest. Wordlessly, Gabriel replaced it with his hand.

The plane gathered speed, the lights switched off, and the aircraft even shook a little. Elle spurted out a decent voltage, but Gabriel held fast and did not let go, not even after they had reached the safety of mid-air.

….

Elle set his shoulder and he screamed. She didn't judge him for it, didn't laugh, didn't coddle. When the pain stopped, he heard the silence, felt the silence. There was nothing in his head. He tried to move the gun that Bennett left behind. It didn't move. They were human. She asked him softly if he was ok with that.

He said it was a relief. "I've felt the hunger, the need to have power is so numbing it felt like my mind was made of cotton and ice. I haven't felt like this since, since I first met you."

She turned away from him, blamed herself, said she pushed him to be that. He defended her. He had to. He knew she was playing her role, being the Company girl. It was all she knew after all. This, Sylar, was all he knew. She said they were powerless, that they couldn't take whatever they wanted anymore.

He looked at her, saw the sadness in her eyes, the desire. They echoed his own. He was barely thinking, or maybe he was fully thinking. He was thinking about her, about them and he let the fully human feelings take over him.

"Says who?" he said.

He moved quickly, pulling her toward him in a kiss. She was surprised, he could tell by the way she responded but he kept his lips on hers. She kissed him back. It was all he'd ever wanted.

….

They were together on the kitchen floor, silent and still yet restless. She cuddled up beside him, close enough to still be part of him. She asked him if he thought it was permanent.

"Our powers going away or us?" he asked. She laughed, replied both. He said he didn't know.

She was quiet again, only for a second. "What if it is? What then?"

He let the question settle and looked at her. "Then you will get exactly what you want."

"What is that I want?" she asked him softly.

He stared at her, studied her face so he could remember it and kissed her.

"A chance," he told her, "a chance to redefine ourselves, free of power and of parents." It was ironic that he said that. They were the two things that Sylar wanted most in the world; the two things that Gabriel didn't care about at all.

She said it was scary. He added unexpected.

"What? Our powers going away or us?" she asked. Both, neither, he thought. He didn't get to answer her. He didn't know if he could anyway. Noah Bennet was shooting at them and mad as hell.

They scrambled out the door, almost completely unscathed until the bullet hit Elle's leg and she screamed. His mind was racing with worry but he dragged her out the door, leaving a trail of blood behind them. Just like Sylar always did.

….

They sat in the aisle of the drugstore, surrounded by blood and bandages. He threw money at the clerk and soothed Elle when she cried out. He told her they had to split up or Bennett would kill them both. She objected, said Bennett was stronger, he would kill him.

"Maybe I deserve it," he said.

"No," she said. "You've changed." And she shared a plan to trap Bennett; there was power in numbers.

They ran together, his arm around her waist to help her walk, hold her close in the process. This was almost over and he knew it. The escape route led them to a storage room. He saw the freight elevator before he led her in there. He pushed her into it, closed the gate, locked it from his side.

"What are you doing?" she cried. He pushed a button. Down. He wouldn't lose her now, not like this. She deserved better.

He looked at her piercing blue eyes one last time. "Goodbye Elle."

She screamed his name. _Gabriel._ It made his heart jump. The elevator moved down, the screams increased. _Gabriel._ Not Sylar but Gabriel.

He wasn't really thinking when he jumped on Bennett. He saw an opportunity and used it. Bennett pounded on him, beat him. With every hit Gabriel urged him on. No, not Gabriel. Sylar. He did it for Elle, so she could get away. Be safe. Live. Then he said Claire's name, the thing that he knew would hurt Bennett the most. She was his weakness.

Bennett had him on the ground, on his knees. A knife to his throat. Gabriel heard the elevator come back up. He saw her still in it. But it was too late. Bennett called him a nobody. The last thing he saw was the look on her face.

….

Those first breaths after death change a man. The air is so sweet that it gets sucked in, like cotton candy, Gabriel decided. At first the room was bright, too white to be real. Then he saw her, staring at him, tears in her eyes. He said her name softly after his neck wove back together.

"I thought I lost you," she said, her lips on his cheek, on his lips.

He shook his head. "You're stuck with me."

….

Gabriel never imagined bonding with his brothers over their father's death, after his last act as Sylar. But there they were, sitting together during Arthur's funeral. He wasn't going to; He and Elle had a seat in the back but Peter told him to come up. He was family, a son, a brother, and he needed to be with them. He deserved to be after everything.

Afterwards, Gabriel asked his brothers what happened next. They were all silent, all unsure. It was only slightly awkward, all these people in the same room. Nathan. Peter. Gabriel. Claire. Elle. People who were attempting to kill each other only weeks before. Now they were all silent, all together, reserved but ready to attack, to protect, if needed.

Gabriel looked at these people, his family. This was the thing he always longed for.

"Let's move forward," Peter said. "Try, at least."

Gabriel looked at his brother, his twin. "I would like that."

…

Elle looked at him when they stood outside the door of the Petrelli mansion.

"You're a Petrelli now," she said, looking at the new name—the new life-written on a new license Angela gave to him. "Are you ready for that?"

He looked at her. "Only if you are. My mother's a little obsessive."

Elle laughed. "I'm not going anywhere."

Gabriel smiled and kissed her. His future was in his hands, literally. He wasn't going to let it go.


	13. Part Six: Arthur

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes, And if we use some of the canon quotes they are borrowed._

_**A/N: Happy Monday. Did everyone go watch New Moon this weekend? I hope so b/c it was fabulous. Anyway, here's a special chapter that pulls things together. It's short, I know. If I get some reviews, I'll put up the next one…I hope you like it. ~Dani**_

**Part Six: Arthur**

In their marriage bed, he felt the mattress sway, slow and relentful, before settling under his wife's body weight. Lights off, it was easy to pretend he was already asleep, to pretend it wasn't his wife he lay beside, to pretend that behind his back he didn't hear Angela's breath hitch and ease in a most unsettling manner. He knew that sound too well. She was about to say what she'd been thinking all day—as if he didn't already know what it was.

"You can't always have what you want, Arthur."

He closed his eyes, remembering Kaito, their looks crossing from a distance, never touching, never anything but reverent towards her. It annoyed him more than any affair ever could. He couldn't understand his wife, her willingness to give up something so precious so effortlessly.

He hardly even understood himself. With a pang in his chest, Arthur recalled Bob's wedding, the glowing bride, the gold rings exchanged and his shudder of despair and defeat. He took a breath, the images of the week racing in his head so quickly it didn't seem real. The call the Bob got in his office, the silent trip to the hospital, the man with the baseball cap and tears in his eyes. The semi couldn't stop on the ice, even when he saw the little blue car skid past him and turned the wheel, it was too late.

Then yesterday, this long, painful day when he couldn't even mourn his loss but Bob's. To the rest of the world, he had lost nothing but he had lost everything for the second time. This loss was permanent; no more sidelong glances, no more innocent touches, no more pretending. He recalled her in the casket, the glow she carried non-existent around the hard white wood. And the little girl that Bob held in his arms, so innocent and confused. She was the image of her mother, same glow, same big eyes, but with Bob's round face. She was alone now, alone with Bob and his sadness.

"Some things are not meant to be," his wife continued, reading the tensions in his back like he could read her mind. "Not for us, not for the Petrellis."

That moment an idea occurred to him, and he realized that after losing a battle, he could still win the war. He had two sons now after all. Sons who would long for a father's approval, far beyond a mother's. And Arthur was good at lying to Angela. He was going to let her think she was winning but when she least expected it, he'd make a comeback.

"I know. I'm just not used to losing," Arthur whispered.

"You haven't lost anything. We're all here, with you." Angela looked at him. He nodded in silent obedience. "Sometimes we just have to accept things as they are."

"You're right. What was I thinking?" Arthur kissed his wife on the cheek. He wouldn't lose this time. He was a Petrelli. Petrellis were always winners. Always.

"Sweet dreams, Angie."

He would find a way to win. What was he winning? Freedom. Strength. Life. Not his, but for his sons. For Nathan. For Peter. He would not let another Petrelli be entrapped with a woman he didn't love and lose the woman he did love.

Arthur smiled as he closed his eyes. It was going to be a life-long game but he held all the cards. He was going to call her bluff. There's no way she would win. He would die before he let that happen.

….

That night, Angela dreamt the first dream of their three sons. Each son handsome, strong. Each of them standing with a golden bride. That golden shade would be their only weakness—the one that would destroy everything.

Unless, she stopped it.


	14. Part Seven: Gabriel

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes, And if we use some of the canon quotes they are borrowed._

_**A/N: As promised. The end is near…only 3 more chapters after this. SO, leave some love. After all, it is Thanksgiving. If you celebrate, hope it's good! ~Dani**_

**Part Seven: Gabriel**

"Your mother is gonna be pissed when she finds out," Elle laughed nervously, relaxing into her seat with one quick glance around the plane, out of habit. Behind them was an old couple, holding hands.

"Maybe," Gabriel mused as the seatbelt lights went off.

He took Elle's hand, as they had grown accustomed to doing while flying. He softly kissed the new addition on her hand, a shining piece of platinum. Platinum, not gold. He wanted no reminder of her father in their life together. It was Sylar who did that and he was Gabriel. He stared at it for a moment. It was amazing how something so small could have so much power, kind of like his fiance.

Without removing his hand, he took one the in-flight magazines. On the cover there was a picture of Taj Mahal.

Elle had never been to India before. It was one more thing she was able to cross off her list. If he had his way, she would do everything she ever wanted. The rollercoaster was next.

…

Gabriel mentioned Hawaii for the ceremony and Elle laughed, shook her head, said there was water there.

"We won't be in the water, only near it," he said with a smile. She looked skeptical. "I'm going to protect you. Trust your fiancé," he said.

It was quiet for a moment and then she smiled.

"Can we have fireworks?"

"There are always fireworks when we're involved, Elle." he said.

...

It was a small ceremony, family and friends. Gabriel had never had friends before, or a family really. He looked out among the crowd and saw people that Sylar terrorized. People who had become Gabriel's friends. No, more than friends. They too were his family.

He was sure that Claire was staring at Peter while she walked before Elle. Their gaze was intense. He looked at his brother as Claire passed them and Peter smiled weakly. The music changed and Gabriel focused on his bride.

Elle wore a simple white dress, long, no shoes. Her hair was back with a yellow flower in her hair. A daisy, if Gabriel remembered it right. Regardless, she was beautiful.

He couldn't believe this was his life. He was happy for the first time in his life, complete, special.

The power never made him special; that was done only in this blonde woman. His enemy. His friend. His wife. He only found himself by meeting her. She made him special.


	15. Part Seven: Peter

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes._

_**A/N: Well…this has all come and gone rather fast. It's exciting and sad. Anyway, I hope that you absolutely adore this chapter because it was a labor of love (all of them were but this one especially so for me!). Also, in case you missed it last time, part 7 is 2 years later (after P5, rather). **__**Leave us some reviews. I mean, it's extra long AND extra lovely so it'd be a great thing.  
**_

_**Also, Mia and I were talking and we are thinking about something very exciting. A companion piece to Blondes…called Brunettes, to be released in 2010. We are just letting you know so we can get some feelers out on the idea. Let me know what you think about it…..**_

_**Enjoy this. : ) ~Dani**_

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**Part Seven: ****Peter**

Peter and Claire sat on opposite sides of his apartment, each surrounded by a pile of books. Claire was piled on the floor, directly in front of the couch, reading and researching for Classic Literature paper. Peter was at the kitchen table preparing an assembly list for the Company.

Claire huffed from the other side of the room and Peter looked over at her. She was pouting, staring at her book with a pen in hand. He shook away the thoughts that she looked pretty like that. That was all he did anymore—shake away thoughts of Claire.

"What's wrong?" he asked. She looked at him then back at the book. "The pizza's on the way."

"'He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same,'" Claire read aloud to him. It was Wuthering Heights; Peter recognized it immediately. "'If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.' Wow."

"That's a good novel," Peter said.

"Good? Peter," Claire was beside him now, her book and notebook still in hand, "Peter, it's amazing. People don't write stuff like this anymore. I mean, I have some great quotes in this notebook but none of them are from this century."

Peter smiled at her. She got so fiery when she talked about something she loved. This, somehow in the last few years, had become one of those things. He knew he was partly to blame; she picked up some of the first great novels from his shelf.

"Listen to this one," she started. "'For what is not connected with her to me? And what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags! In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!'"

Claire looked at him.

"Can you even imagine feeling that for someone else? That every single thing you do and see reminds you of them—even when you look at yourself?" Claire asked.

Their eyes were locked and they sat in the silence as the clock loudly counted the seconds away until they were minutes.

Peter broke the gaze. He grabbed her notebook and started reading. "What else do you have written?"

Claire had done her homework. Bronte. Dickens. Austen.

"Shakespeare." Peter smiled at her. "What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, which is pale and weak. " Peter looked at Claire. "It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks…See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!"

Claire nodded. "You can't have a good English paper without Shakespeare. I'm not praising him though; I'm using him as the example of a failed plot."

Peter laughed. "It's Shakespeare. He IS plot."

Claire shook her head. "He's emotion. Romeo and Juliet barely knew each other. Not like Heathcliff and Catherine or any of Austen's characters. There's no journey together."

"No journey?" Peter said. "They die at the end. I'd say that's a journey."

"It's boring," she said simply.

Peter scoffed. "Shakespeare is not boring," he said. "Well, ok. Maybe sometimes. But he's got a plot; he's got a journey—you don't see it because it doesn't take his characters as long as Edward and Bella to get somewhere. Sometimes you just know; they just knew," he said.

"Don't mock the greatness that is Edward and Bella," she said with a smile.

He ignored her. Peter pointed to one of her quotes and starting saying it. He wasn't even looking, as if he knew the play by heart.

"'And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.'" She looked at him. "That's a man in love. He'd rather die than be without her. That's why love is love. That's what it is. Read what she says here," Peter pointed to the line.

"'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep." Claire read, "The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.'"

Peter and Claire did that staring thing again. Everything inside of him told him to look away but he couldn't. He didn't want to. He wanted to look at her, to pour out these words that were said in a way better he could dream of saying them to her. He wanted to keep reading lines with her, like they were from his mouth.

The doorbell rang.

"Pizza," Claire said, not moving.

….

He made her dinner. She was studying for finals all week and the last time he had seen her, she was a mess. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants with his black AC/DC shirt that she'd stolen from his room months ago. She immediately apologized for her appearance.

"You look wonderful," Peter said with a smile. He kissed the corner of her mouth, the spot where her cheek met her lips. The spot that was safe. "No books?"

Claire smiled and took a step to the left. There behind her sat a tote bag.

They ate dinner slowly and talked about anything except for school, work and the way they really felt. She slept on his couch that night, away from the noisy roommates, with a tattered copy of _Persuasion_ on her chest. Peter's copy.

….

Peter and Claire were sitting in the park. She had a book and a slushy; he had a camera. It was a hobby. Claire closed her book and looked at Peter. "You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.'"

The camera clicked and he lowered it, his heart pounding. He asked her what she said.

"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope."

"That's a good quote," he said. Then he snapped a picture of her.

"It's my life," she said, her eyes on him. He lowered the camera again. "That's my whole life. Every piece of my being is in conflict with the other—the things I have, things I want, things I shouldn't want, the people around me, people I shouldn't want to be with…"

Peter wiped a small tear from her cheek. "Mine too," he said.

Claire was quiet then. He kissed the corner of her mouth, the safe spot. She smiled softly at him.

"Have you ever just wanted to take a risk and screw the consequences? Forget other people, forget society and just be yourself, do what you want, love who you want?" she asked. She laughed and looked away. "Never mind. That's ridiculous. Ignore me, I'm rambling."

Peter took her chin and turned her face toward his. "I completely understand," he said, "more than anyone."

….

Peter and Gabriel were in Thailand. They had gone out with the Company to meet a client who ran a similar organization to discuss a merger of sorts and were going back to D.C. that evening. In the last two years, Peter and Gabriel had worked past Sylar and built a brotherhood. It was a long road but now they were in a good place.

"So," Gabriel said when they stepped out of the restaurant, "I didn't mean to intrude on your thoughts brother but do you want to talk about something?"

Peter shrugged. "Not really."

Gabriel nodded. They walked in silence for a second. "Nothing about you kissing Claire that you wanted to tell me?"

Peter shook his head. "I didn't kiss her," he said. "I just wanted to."

"Pete…"

"I know Gabe. I know. You don't have to say anything, ok? I know who she is, who I am," Peter said.

Gabriel stopped walking and turned toward his brother. "Look, that wasn't what I was going to say," he paused. Peter looked at him. "Have you talked to her about how you feel? This has been on your mind since I met you. Have you considered…"

"Six years," Peter said. "I've considered everything and I've tried everything to forget her, to get over these feelings—let's not forget how the situation with Emma went."

Peter sighed at the memory. He never should've tried a relationship with her. She was fragile and he was in love with Claire. But they tried and failed, miserably. Everyone got hurt in the end and they were no better off than before it started. Well, maybe Emma—who was flourishing in her new role as a doctor and her ability.

"And I'm not talking to Claire about this. That would make it awkward for her. And Nathan would flip—Claire's his daughter. _His daughter_." Peter was quiet after he said that so the words would stick in his brain. There were words floating in his head but he couldn't grab them.

"Maybe she feels the same way. You're not going to know until you tell her," Gabriel said.

"And if she doesn't? What then?" Peter shook his head. "I can't do that to her. I'd rather die than not have in her in my life and this—my being in love with her—would most definitely guarantee her removal from my life. I can't. Call me selfish."

Gabriel nodded, said he wouldn't mention it again. And they changed the subject.

….

When Peter got home the next evening, Claire was sitting in his apartment. She shot up quickly from his couch when he walked in. He stood there, frozen in front of the door, his eyes on her. She had a book in one hand, a pillow in the other. She had on one of his shirts, his brand new blue one to be exact, and her Soffee shorts, which seemed nonexistent under his long shirt. Peter didn't know how to move, where to move or if he should move. He just stood, confused and tired.

Claire smiled. "You're home," she said. "Obviously, you're home. I didn't expect you here today. I thought it was tomorrow? Sorry, I just let myself in—last week—I wanted to be alone and I knew you…were…gone." She paused, took a breath, smiled. "How was your trip?"

Peter nodded, hid his smile at her babbling spell. "It went well. I'm tired."

Claire smiled. "I can leave," she said. She put down the pillow and moved. She picked up her bag, stepped toward Peter. He moved left to block her step. When she moved right, he followed. Then again left.

"What?" she asked.

Peter smiled and looked her up and down. She followed his gaze. "Are you wearing that at this hour of the night on the street? I don't think that would be smart."

Claire blushed and nodded, said that he was right. "I'll just go change."

"You don't have you to—" he said. She turned and looked at him. "—leave, I mean." He said quickly. "It's late. You can stay; you're always welcome here, you know that."

Peter took off his jacket and his shoes when he saw Claire put down her purse. Peter was fighting the urge he had to pull her close, to tell her all the things that had been on his mind all day. He couldn't do that so he made a sandwich, sat down on the couch, tried to ignore she was there until she sat beside him a little too closely.

She was looking at him over the top of her book, watching him as he ate his sandwich. "What?" he asked.

Claire lowered her book. "You seem weird. Are you really okay? Did something happen with the Company or with Gabriel?"

Peter shook his head. "What made you come stay here again? I think I missed in all the rambling."

Claire shrugged. Peter nudged her.

"I wanted to be away from my room. Lacey's not the easiest person to live with lately; there's a new boy every other day. It's…annoying. Impossible to read," she said. She shot Peter a look and he chuckled. "I knew this place was empty."

She looked at him for a second and smiled. She reached over and touched the corner of his mouth with her fingertip. She held it up to show him that it was mustard. Her touch, even in something simple, made him quiver. It was in that moment that he wished, for the first time since knowing her and what he hoped to be the last time, that he hadn't been the one who had saved her.

….

Peter woke up. He'd been having these dreams lately of his parents. Usually they were playing poker but tonight it was dominoes. They never said anything, just sat at a table and played. At the end of their game, Peter would swoop Claire up in his arms and kiss her. It was an odd dream and, aside from the Claire portion, it made no sense. But then, his parents never made much sense in a conscious state either.

Peter sighed and opened his bedroom door. To his surprise, Claire was upright on the sofa with only the kitchen light on. She didn't have a book or a computer in sight, which was rare for her. She was just sitting, her legs crossed under her and a blanket, chewing her fingernails. She looked at him when she heard this door open.

"Water," he said. She nodded.

He muttered to himself as he walked over, small comments of self-encouragement. He stayed in the kitchen, facing her way at the bar while he drank the glass of water without a breath. They locked eyes, neither one speaking. He thought it was best. He was a tired man who just dreamed about kissing his niece.

He said goodnight as he walked past her, toward his room. He closed the door when he heard her say his name. He re-opened it. She was standing there, inches from him.

"Goodnight," she said softly.

She leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, something they had done thousands of times before. But when her lips touched his ever so slightly and departed, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back in. It was soft at first, a peck on the lips, but then it was more. His hands were on her back, pushing her into him, kissing her like he would die without her. He _would _die without her; he'd already be dead. She leaned into his embrace, her hands on his chest. He held her tightly and kissed her in a way that made her his. She didn't object, didn't pull away.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped. They stood, awkwardly unsure of what happened next.

….

Peter glanced at her during family brunch the next week. No, not glanced, stared. It was like had no control over his eyes, they just moved to her and fixed there. Occasionally Gabriel would clear his throat or kick him under the chair and Peter would look away, add something to the conversation. He was grateful for his brother, his other half, but his eyes would always move back to Claire.

She only looked at him once. Their eyes met while the plates were being placed before them. They were smiling eyes, then sad ones. It was a cycle that he felt matched his completely. When she looked away, he never saw her look back, not even when he pretended that he wasn't looking.

After brunch, his hand grazed hers on the way out the door. She let hers stay close to his for a few seconds before moving it. He swore that she did it on purpose.

….

Peter waited for Claire after her class. He hadn't seen her in weeks, which was a combination of him being gone and her avoiding him. She didn't call him back. This was the only way he could talk to her, the only way to make things right. So here he was, sitting outside of her school, thunder echoing in his ears as he waited for her like some lost and pathetic man. Maybe he was.

He said her name when he saw her and she walked past him, shaking her head. He called her name again and she walked faster. Once they were around the corner, he teleported in front of her to stop her.

"What do you want Peter?" she asked.

Peter looked at her. "I want you to forgive me. I need you to understand that you're Nathan's daughter."

"I've always understood that," she said. "Believe me."

"I'm his brother, Claire," he said. That's how they always said it. Always Nathan's daughter. Nathan's brother. Never uncle or niece—as if it wasn't them, it was someone else. "I've apologized but I'll beg if I have to."

"I told you already that I don't want your apology, like it was some mistake that you have to make up for."

"Claire…"

"Peter, just don't," she said. She sat her bag on the ground and looked at him, really looked at him.

"What do you want Claire?" he asked. "What do you want from me? I need you to forgive me, to move things back to normal."

She shook her head. "I don't want normal," she said. "Not with you, not if I can't be with you."

The rain broke through the sky and Claire walked past him. He just stood there, watching her leave and he regretted ever trying to not have her in his life, ever wishing someone else had saved her. He always wanted it to be him, from the moment he saw her drawn on Isaac's paintings.

….

Claire rushed into Peter's apartment; her hair wet from the rain that still fell. She yelled his name. "What's the emergency? What happened?"

Peter was standing in the middle of his living room, as if he had been pacing back and forth, waiting. He had been. She said his name again, said she rushed over here because he said it was an emergency. She asked him if she was hurt.

He locked eyes with her, took a step toward her. "I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to hurt Nathan. I didn't want to hurt you."

She started to interject but he put up his hand to stop her talking.

"I didn't want to disappoint anyone else, you know? Myself, that was fine. You, I never thought you were interested. I thought it was always just on my end, something I imagined," he said.

Claire shook her head. "From the moment you saved me, Peter, the moment at the trophy case, in the jail cell…"

Peter put her face in his hands and she looked at him. "I never really wanted to be normal," he said and he kissed her, tossing her bag and her umbrella to the floor. He kissed her until he had to stop for breath. Their foreheads rested together for a second and she was smiling.

"I love you," he said, "I'm so in love with you I can barely stand it."

"I dreamed that you would say that to me that for years," she said softly. "Kiss me again."

"My pleasure," he said as he kissed her again.


	16. Part Seven: Nathan

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes._

_**A/N: One more chapter. Wow. What a ride. Leave reviews please…~Dani**_

**Part Seven: ****Nathan**

It was late. Nathan found a seat at the corner of the half-full bar and ordered a drink.

Things hadn't gone well. Life was just starting to be something he enjoyed—Claire was almost done with college and he saw his boys for the first time in a year—and then this. His brother. He was not really sure how he was supposed to respond to it. It wasn't normal for his brother and his…

Gabriel told him that it was all going to be ok, that they knew what they were doing. He told him that he should be okay with it, that they were adults, that it was their lives. But Nathan was part of their lives and he wasn't sure if he could watch it.

He took a drink and thought about the women in his life. He never really had the best of luck, or of normal either. There was Meredith, who lied to him about being dead and then, in the irony of life, died for real, the same way she pretended. Niki, who was a killer named Jessica sometimes and a married mother other times and Tracy, who turned into a killer because of him. Maybe that expression about the third time being a charm was wrong.

Three real loves, or some kind of love, that he had experienced with three great women all failed. And now, he was divorced from the only one who ever loved him, even if he loved her halfway. He shouldn't judge Peter...he should want him to be happy, but at what cost? Maybe Nathan was just selfish, like Claire said. Maybe she was right.

As Nathan sat, drank, thought, a blonde lady sat by his side. She had long slender legs and a sultry voice. He tried not to pay attention to her, but she started talking to him.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" she asked. "Aren't you that congressman from the news today?"

Her voice had a familiarity to it as she spoke. He looked up and around, just to be sure he wasn't imagining people again. Nope, she was really there. The guy behind her nodded toward him, which he assumed was a congratulatory nod for her talking to him. He was too puzzled to say anything coherent so he nodded toward the woman.

She reached out her hand. It was manicured, slender, and the gesture was exceedingly familiar. She smiled. It was familiar too. Everything about her was familiar, yet different.

"I'm Barbara, by the way," she said.

Nathan smiled. Maybe the third time _was _the charm after all.

"Nathan Petrelli," he said. "Let me buy you a drink."


	17. Epilogue

_Disclaimer: We don't own Heroes._

_**A/N: I need to say thanks to everyone who reviewed. The feedback was awesome. And to those who read and didn't review, we appreciate you. We're so glad that yall stuck with us through this adventure. Let's do it one more time! This is the end. I'm sad to see it be over but also excited about what the next story will hold for our heroes. And whatever you celebrate, I hope it's awesome. Enjoy the time with the people you love. Anyway….on to the conclusion. ~Dani

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**Epilogue**

The mansion was quiet but fraught with anticipation. The servants moved around, soundless, as if they walked on air. Angela's harsh breaths were the only noises that fill the large house. She didn't say much to anyone and didn't move much, a result of old age and counted minutes of remaining life, the previous, more important minutes of life mostly wasted, she now realized, on failed missions and broken people.

A nurse came into her room, asked her if she felt better. Angela shrugged, a passive move for a woman at her end. She didn't see the need to fight anymore. The nurse adjusted her pillow, gave her some water and left her alone again in the room that had been hers for decades.

Angela stared out the window across from her bed. The curtains were open and she could see the city skyline in the distance, the garden in her view and the large tree that she planted one afternoon when she was upset with Arthur. They were new to their marriage, to this home, and gardening was something Angela did as a child with her father.

That day, a warm day only months into their marriage, she retreated to the lawn after an argument and she planted that tree. It was the only thing in her life that she felt truly needed her care and love and nurturing, even more than her sons. Now that tree stood out their window, tall and strong, a taunting, ironic sort of reminder of the things she failed at completing in her years. It was only fitting.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember the argument they'd had all those years ago. It was fuzzy amid all the thoughts that rested in her head but she longed to remember it. Instead, she only remembered her mistakes, her reactions, her dreams of the future, her sons. She made many mistakes with them, a result of having Nathan too young and Peter too old. The biggest mistake was the one she thought she was preventing. That was Sylar. Her Gabriel.

They were twins, Gabriel and Peter. Back then the doctors didn't know, even the best ones had a hard time figuring it out. Angela knew though. The night before Bob's wedding she had a dream about her unborn sons. She knew they were special, even their timing told her that. She was going to lose everything and then she was pregnant. The string that held her life into balance was no longer dangling.

In her dream, they were powerful; both were empaths with the ability to pick up other's abilities. One was stronger. His strength came from desire, from power and he would destroy the weaker one.

That night she made a decision. Angela would only keep one son. If they separated, there would be no battle, no loss. The day they were born, Gabriel came out first, strong and big. Then Peter came, smaller and weak. The Haitan boy came into the hospital and helped the staff forget that Mrs. Petrelli had twins. When they told Arthur, who waited outside with a cigar, Bob Bishop and Daniel Linderman, they spoke only of Peter.

The arrangements were made before his birth. Gabriel Petrelli would be Gabriel Gray, the son of Samson Gray, the watchmaker. He would be safe there and far away from the brother he would destroy. Far away, yet close enough for Angela to keep a watchful eye on him. He was her son after all.

Of course though, she made the wrong decision. She knew it from the first time she saw him drawn on one of Isaac's paintings. In a frantic state, she read the dream wrong. Instead of preventing the future she dreaded, she made it a reality. That dream was the result of separation, not of raising them together. It was a decision she would always regret, despite the current outcome. There was a lot of misery, lies and death before there was redemption. Her sons said they didn't hate her, though they should, and they said they were happy.

"Your sons are here," the servant said, interrupting her thoughts. "Are you up to seeing them?" Angela nodded, her eyes still closed.

She pictured them in her head as babies, as boys, as men. It made her heart race to think of how like Arthur they were. Arthur was callous, mean, vindictive, neglectful but he was her husband. Somewhere underneath the blonde women he chased and the hardness of his heart toward her, they loved each other. They'd spent too many years together not to, on some level, love each other.

Her eyes were still closed but she heard several people enter the room and close the door. They were quiet but she could feel them breath around her. She opened her eyes and saw her three boys before her. Each son was handsome, strong. Each of them standing with a golden bride. Angela looked at the six faces before her. Three blonde faces, three dark ones and she laughed.

Angela never laughed—not like that anyway and not in years. Nathan was sure he had heard the sound before, long ago when things were different.

"Ma, what's so funny?" he asked.

She didn't answer. She was still laughing. She laughed so hard that it sent her into a violent coughing fit. The sound was harsh in the quiet room. Peter went to her side, gave her some water, checked her pulse.

"Mom, are you okay?" Gabriel asked. His concern was written on his face.

"What's wrong with her, Pete?" Nathan asked.

Angela waved her hand. "Old age. I'm much better now," she said. She looked at her sons. "In fact, I'm more at ease than I remember."

"That's good," Peter said. "Real good, mom."

Angela nodded and patted his hand.

Through her window, she aw the leaves on her tree move in the wind. She stared at it, watched it sway in the wind. Like a rocking chair. She used to have one of those when Nathan was a baby. She would rock him in the chair. He was small, but not as small as Peter. Being a new mother, she thought she would break him when she touched him but she fought that fear and touched him often, held him in her arms every chance she had—just to make sure he was real. It was like Arthur. When they were first married, she loved him so much that she would watch him sleep at night and touch his face to make sure she wasn't dreaming it all.

"Mom?" Peter said.

"Where's Arthur?" Angela asked, her eyes still on the tree. Where was Arthur? Dead, she knew that but the onset of death reminded her that her destination was not sealed. If, as the Catholic faith taught, there was heaven and hell, where was Arthur? Hell, she thought was a major possibility. Or purgatory for most of eternity, waiting, paying back sins slowly. Part of her wished Hell on him instead. She could only wonder what would separate her from him. Where would they be when life was over? Together was the one thing she was certain.

The boys looked at each other. "Dad's gone, Ma." Nathan said.

"I know that, Nathan. I know." She looked at them, touched each of their faces. She looked past them at the three women standing in the back of the room. "You all remind me of your father." She paused. "When he was good, of course. He used to be good. _I_ used to be good."

"You are good, Ma," Peter said.

She made a noise. "Peter, your desire to see the good in people once again ruins your judgment. I'm not good: I'm old. I'm dying. It's a just world. You just want me to be good so you can remember that about me when I'm gone." Angela said. "Don't do that. I worked hard for my family. Remember me how I was, good and bad. People are flawed; those flaws make us human, make us memorable."

…

When the visit was over, Angela asked a servant to bring her husband's photo from the dresser. She traced his face with her finger, as if she was seeing him for the first time. She finally understood him.

"It's over. You won, Arthur Petrelli. You finally got what you wanted."

After all their battles, their fights and their attempts at co-existence that never seemed to go anywhere, she looked forward to seeing Arthur again.

And maybe she was wrong.

Maybe he deserved this small victory on behalf of his sons.

This weakness for blondes was Arthur's demise. It changed him into someone else, someone she didn't recognize, didn't like to love. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Angela couldn't deny that it changed her sons too. They were different people now, stronger, braver, heroes. Where the weakness was Arthur's demise, perhaps it was their triumph.

She fell asleep with her husband's photo at her side. His face smiled at beside her—as charming in print as it was in life—only now it was framed in gold, as hers would be.


End file.
